THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 PROFESSOR JOHN ELOF BOODIN 
 
 MEMORIAL PHILOSOPHY 
 
 COLLECTION
 
 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS.
 
 On A Western Campus* 
 
 STORIES AND SKETCHES OF 
 UNDERGRADUATE LIFE 
 
 By 
 
 The class of 
 Ninety-Eight. 
 
 iowa college, 
 
 u GRINNELL, IOWA. 
 
 Illustrated by 
 FRANK WING. 
 
 Buffalo, New York: 
 
 CHARLES WELLS MOULTON. 
 
 1897.
 
 Copyright, 1897, 
 By CHARLES WELLS MOULTON. 
 
 ALL K1GHTS RESERVED.
 
 SRD 
 URL 
 
 TO ^c.snsizi 
 
 SELDEN L. WHITCOMB, 'S7.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 I. Co-Education. 
 
 Two Students of Science 17 
 
 Charles Bigelow Frisbie. 
 Miss Aylesworth's Friend 33 
 
 Laura Thompson Whitman. 
 Her Cousin Rob 55 
 
 Florence Azella Fonda. 
 
 II. Portraits. 
 
 Jack Dumbaugh 79 
 
 Benjamin Clarke Marsh. 
 
 In the Fall of the Year 95 
 
 Elizabeth Moore. 
 
 Brainard's Transformation 107 
 
 Irving HarTow Hart. 
 
 III. Recreation. 
 
 Winning the Emblem 121 
 
 Benjamin Clarke Marsh.
 
 Till CONTENTS. 
 
 "Toggles'" Suit 135 
 
 Agnes Sears. 
 
 Ooach ''Chubby" 149 
 
 Harold Le Grand Beyer. 
 
 IV* In Serious Vein. 
 
 Back in the Sixties 163 
 
 Bessie Stafford Gallaher. 
 
 For the Scarlet and Black 181 
 
 Harlow Chapman Richardson. 
 
 The Work of the Storm 201 
 
 Emily Lorette Peck. 
 
 The Professor's Story 223 
 
 Frank William Johnson.
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 The Campus Frontispiece 
 
 " A whole gymnasium in itself for 
 
 Milburn" 17 
 
 "Shall I come at three?" 60 
 
 "Above all never say a word to any 
 
 of the boys about this " 90 
 
 " So he stood with bowed head" 117 
 
 " Is Jack dead crazy ? " 152
 
 Prefatory Note. 
 
 THE immediate function of this little vol- 
 ume is to serve as the annual production 
 of the Junior class in Iowa College. It is be- 
 lieved, however, that a somewhat radical and 
 significant departure has been made from the 
 typical "Junior annual" idea, with a result 
 which deserves attention beyond the limits of 
 local college interests. 
 
 These stories and sketches have been writ- 
 ten with the view of presenting, mainly in the 
 spirit of realistic interpretation and principally 
 as they are observed to-day, varied scenes in the 
 "human comedy" of a co-educational college 
 between the Missouri and the Mississippi. 
 Not so much attempt has been made to repro- 
 duce the specific shades of "local color," as to 
 paint such characteristics as are essentially 
 representative of numerous institutions of 
 similar type in the West. 
 
 Some study is given to the conditions of the
 
 Xll PREFATORY NOTE. 
 
 school in its early days the days of "the 
 War"; and some report is made of the capri- 
 cious hostility of Nature, never more emphatic 
 than in the historic calamity of this prairie 
 college. The repose of puritanic ideas, trans- 
 planted directly from New England, is seen 
 mildly disturbed by the influences of modern 
 scientific education; the intensity of athletic 
 strife is felt, and the exultant thrill of hardly- 
 won victory ; even the pranks of students upon 
 faculty so much more terrible in this "wild 
 and wooly West" than in the Great Eastern 
 Universities ! have not escaped the recording 
 pen. 
 
 While the writers have endeavored to give a 
 definite artistic unity to the volume, it can not 
 be expected that every piece will satisfy the 
 fastidious, in style, construction or subject. 
 Perfection in short-story writing is a more 
 difficult attainment, according to the initiated, 
 than ordinary success in the novel. The un- 
 dergraduate has no opportunity for the ten 
 years'apprenticeship of Maupassant or Bourget ; 
 and he has stronger temptation to deny free, 
 original expression to his individuality, than
 
 PREFATORY NOTE. Xlll 
 
 one of his own age unrestrained by the con- 
 ventions of college life. 
 
 Nevertheless, it is hoped that this little col- 
 lection of stories may arouse attention, ap- 
 proval and even somewhat of serious criticism, 
 especially among progressive teachers of liter- 
 ature and their students. To such hands the 
 writers are willing to entrust their fortunes, 
 believing that interest in the processes of art, 
 as of life, is no less noble than the delight in 
 ripened fruits, and remembering the spirit of 
 the poet who wrote: 
 
 "They are perfect how else? They shall never 
 
 change: 
 We are faulty why not? We have time in store. " 
 
 Grixxell, Iowa, May the First, 1897.
 
 I. 
 
 CO-EDUCATION.
 
 a whole gymnasium in itself for Milburn. 
 
 Page 1'
 
 Two Students of Science. 
 
 i fpHERE ! I think I'll have as good a yield 
 1 of iodoform as anybody. I guess I'll rest 
 my nerves a little while that stuff settles;" and 
 casting his big apron aside he proceeded to 
 climb, hand over hand, up a vertical iron 
 water-pipe which ran through the hall just 
 outside the laboratory door. The pipe was 
 held secure in its place by a joint which came 
 in contact with a beam overhead, and was 
 known by the chemistry students as the 
 "greased pole," since it was a whole gymna- 
 sium in itself for Milburn, who was now tak- 
 ing exercise on it. 
 
 Soon he appeared again in the door and 
 called, "Say Sister! come on and climb the 
 'greased pole' once, it will do you good." 
 Miss Keller had received a similar invitation 
 several times before, and while she showed no 
 particular signs of responding to it, she re- 
 solved to practice the exercise in the Gymna- 
 
 (17)
 
 18 ON A WESTEEN CAMPUS. 
 
 sium, and surprise Milburn by performing some- 
 time when she was dressed in her tennis suit. 
 "I can't do it now," she replied. "Some 
 time when I have my bloomers on I'll try it." 
 "Now is the accepted time," said Hicks, a 
 young man working at qualitative analysis at 
 the end of the room, and he began to whistle, 
 "Why do you wait, dear brother?" 
 
 Miss Keller was the only girl in Hawkeye 
 College who Avas taking advanced work in 
 chemistry, and the others working in the lab- 
 oratory with her insisted that she ought to 
 have been a boy. It was a favorite trick of 
 Milburn's to make a profound bow in her 
 direction when he came in to work after din- 
 ner, and say, "Good afternoon, gentlemen!" 
 It was now nearly three years since they began 
 work together in the laboratory, but he 
 had not yet become entirely accustomed to 
 the idea of a girl taking a science for a major; 
 or, what is more probable, he chose to make it 
 appear that the idea was novel to him, and 
 though he usually addressed her as "Sister," 
 he enjoyed referring to her as one of the boys. 
 When he had been in the beginning class with
 
 TWO STUDENTS OF SCIENCE. 19 
 
 her and she had told him that her majors were 
 chemistry and biology he had quite surprised 
 her by saying, "A scientific girl! My gra- 
 cious! I didn't know the Lord ever made 
 any." 
 
 When she found out that he was interested 
 in social science, and lived at the college set- 
 tlement, and sometimes preached in neighbor- 
 ing school-houses and adjacent villages, she 
 returned his surprise by saying: "My gra- 
 cious! A scientific preacher ! I didn't know 
 the Lord ever made any." 
 
 They evidently regarded each other as curi- 
 ous freaks, and from that moment there be- 
 gan to spring up between them a strong broth- 
 erly and sisterly feeling. 
 
 He now came hurriedly back to his desk and 
 began to put it in order. It was nearly four 
 o'clock and he wanted to play tennis. 
 
 "See here," said he turning to Miss Keller, 
 "if you had been industrious, you might have 
 been through now, and had time to play ten- 
 nis with people who ivori." He said this with 
 an air of sternness wholly assumed and ran 
 down into the basement to put on his sweater.
 
 20 OS A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 He soon reappeared bringing a roll of white 
 cloth, suggestive of a white shirt, which he 
 thrust into a drawer under his table. 
 
 A young man appeared in the door, appar- 
 ently waiting for Milburn to come out and 
 play with him. He seemed curious to know 
 what Miss Keller was doing with the two glass 
 tubes, which had metric scales engraved on 
 their sides. They were held by clamps in a 
 vertical position and filled with some colorless 
 liquids. Standing beneath their lower ends, on 
 the white tiling of the table, was a flask filled 
 with another liquid. Miss Keller would turn the 
 stopcock on one of the tubes and let a few 
 drops into the flask below, the contents of 
 which would change from colorless to red; 
 then letting a drop or two fall from the other 
 it would lose its red color. Finally dropping 
 first from the one and then the other, a single 
 drop tinged the liquid with a faint suggestion 
 of crimson and she stopped. Taking a little 
 magnifying glass from the table she read the 
 fine graduations on the sides of the tubes, and 
 found how much of the liquid she had used. 
 
 The young man looked inquiringly, and Mil-
 
 TWO STUDENTS OF SCIENCE. 21 
 
 burn explained, assuming the most profes- 
 sorial of airs as he did so: "You see she is 
 trying to find exactly how much acid there is 
 in the liquid she has in that flask. So she 
 puts four or five drops of some stuff into it 
 which makes it turn one color when acid and 
 another when alkaline. Now she fills one of 
 those tubes which are called burettes, with a 
 standard alkaline solution and the other with 
 a standard acid solution, each of which con- 
 tain a known amount of acid or alkali to the 
 cubic centimeter." 
 
 "Young man, on the back seat there, you 
 may either pay attention to this recitation or 
 make yourself scarce! Now to continue she 
 lets the alkali mixture in until the liquid 
 changes color. Then she lets a little of the 
 acid in to equalize the excessive alkali, and 
 finally she gets it neutral. Then she reads 
 this scale and finds how much of alkali she 
 has used in excess of acid. She knows how 
 much acid each fraction of alkali will neutra- 
 lize, and from this, figures up the amount of 
 acid present in the whole mixture. Is that 
 perfectly plain to you, Lambert? Very well.
 
 22 ON A WESTEKN' CAMPUS. 
 
 Any questions? The class is excused." The 
 two young men were soon out on the campus 
 playing tennis. 
 
 "A queer fellow that Milburn ," said 
 Hicks, "I used to know him in Kansas City. 
 He is as full of fun as the old Nick himself, 
 but he is really a good scientist and a 
 thoroughly careful fellow to have around the 
 laboratory." 
 
 "Well I'd like to know," said Smith, a 
 young man watching for the contents of a 
 crucible to fuse, "if a fellow oughtn't to be 
 chuck full of fun crammed down and running 
 over, if he expects to have enough left in him 
 to get a test for after taking such a study as 
 this. Hang this old crucible of stuff! It's 
 been trying this whole hour to fuse and hasn't 
 succeeded yet." And turning quickly he 
 added, "I beg your pardon, Miss Keller, but I 
 really had to swear or do something." 
 
 Without looking up from her flask she re- 
 plied, "0 you shall be pardoned, certainly, so 
 long as you confine yourself to such mild 
 profanity under such aggravating circum- 
 stances. You are really improving."
 
 TWO STUDENTS OF SCIENCE. 23 
 
 Smith began to talk again: "That man 
 Milburn is good too, mighty good for a chem- 
 ist. A man is always bad and impious if he 
 studies chemistry, especially if that man hap- 
 pens to be a woman. " (The girl gave him a 
 withering glance.) "But Milburn isn't a girl 
 so it isn't so surprising that he amounts to 
 something. He spends oceans of time in that 
 college settlement." 
 
 "Some say," said Hicks, "that he does it to 
 continue his biological studies and that he is 
 taking the human worm as his specimen." 
 
 Miss Keller looked up quickly. "Yes, some 
 may say it," said she, "but I don't believe that 
 it is his principal motive now, though it may 
 have been in the first place. I think it would 
 be a worthy enough one if it were." 
 
 "You think it is all right, do you," said 
 Hicks, "to study people over with no other 
 motive than that? I don't believe I'd enjoy 
 being a specimen for your college-house 
 freaks." 
 
 The girl smiled and looked up. "All 
 classes of people are the subjects of study for 
 the social scientists, your own class included,"
 
 24 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 said she. "People cannot be helped or help 
 each other to higher planes of existence unless 
 the facts regarding present conditions are 
 known." 
 
 "Well, I suppose," said Hicks, "that some 
 facts are necessary, but it looks like a cold- 
 blooded way of going after them, if that is his 
 only motive. I didn't expect you were going to 
 be so eloquent on the subject of sociology." 
 
 "I didn't say it was his only motive," she 
 replied, "but if facts are useful, then the find- 
 ing of them by honest scientific methods is a 
 worthy occupation. He is really trying to 
 help the people around him while he is gain- 
 ing knowledge from studying them." 
 
 "That's right! Stick up for him," said 
 Hicks. 
 
 "You ought to see him at the settlement 
 Sunday-school," said she. "He teaches a 
 class and does it sensibly, too. I attended 
 one Sunday when a young man asked him if 
 he believed Aaron's rod really changed into a 
 snake and then back again, and he replied with- 
 out pause, that he did not." 
 
 "What in the name of Jericho did he say to
 
 TWO STUDENTS OF SCIENCE. 25 
 
 him?" asked Hicks. "Tell him that the 
 Bible is a fraud and that he had better follow 
 the Koran?" 
 
 "Hardly. He told them that this story was 
 really only a poetic way of expressing the in- 
 fluence that a good man like Aaron had over 
 ignorant and evil-minded people ; and that it 
 was included in the collection of the sacred 
 writings of the Jews, which we call the Old 
 Testament. Then he told them something 
 about the way in which the Bible was com- 
 piled. Now that's what I call scientific. 
 The scientific spirit is pervading everything 
 and we are beginning to study literature, last 
 of all, scientifically." 
 
 "Great Scott!" said Hicks, "what a beast 
 you're making of science. You're letting it 
 eat up the universe. I guess I'll prepare my- 
 self to be swallowed." 
 
 "Never you worry," said she, "the carni- 
 vora don't eat raw cabbage." Hicks took the 
 laugh that followed with good grace, and ap- 
 peared to be squelched. Miss Keller con- 
 tinued: "Milburn is going at religion scien- 
 tifically." Hicks interrupted again.
 
 26 OX A WESTEKN CAMPUS. 
 
 "Good gracious! Keligion is going to be 
 swallowed too. That carniverous beast will 
 have to have as many stomachs as a cow. 
 He'd have an awful fit of indigestion if he 
 got Miss Keller and religion in the same 
 stomach." The remark was greeted with 
 groans but he did not mind it. He was used to 
 it. 
 
 "There are some people," said Miss Keller, 
 who believe Mr. Milburn is dangerous, but he 
 is doing good. Some of the rest of us un- 
 orthodox people might well follow his ex- 
 ample. ' ' 
 
 "Well, by all the symbols in the chemical 
 dictionary! or anything else you cold-blooded 
 investigators hold to be sacred and inviolate^ 
 I declare that old Milburn has a firm friend in 
 Miss Keller," exclaimed Hicks. "As for me, 
 I've got enough of this scientific business and 
 if I don't flunk at the end of the semester I'll 
 quit you people. Three semesters are enough 
 for me plenty ! I don't see how in the world 
 you third year people managed to survive at 
 all. My health is failing awfully fast and my 
 youth is fading as a flower."
 
 TWO STUDENTS OF SCIENCE. 27 
 
 "Sunflower," suggested Smith. 
 
 Hicks walked up to the board where the 
 Professor posted special directions. He took 
 one look and then began to rub his eyes. 
 "Well by all the oxides of lead and manga- 
 nese ! Look here, Sister Keller, you had bet- 
 ter read this before you stick up for him again. 
 It's very pretty in you, but look at the base 
 ingratitude of the fellow. This is his doing 
 sure." A small group gathered around the 
 place and read the following equation in Mil- 
 burn's well-known handwriting: 
 
 ' ' Keller -f Smith + (Hicks) 2 =l-2 man. ' ' 
 
 At half past five Miss Keller and Hicks 
 were the only ones remaining in the labora- 
 tory. Milburn came rushing through the 
 room and dashed down into the basement to 
 change his clothes for supper, evidently for- 
 getting in his haste, that his coat hung in the 
 laboratory above, and that his shirt was in a 
 drawer under his table. After a time his voice 
 was heard calling, "Hicks! 0, Hicks! Come 
 to the head of the stairs a minute." 
 
 Hicks obeyed, taking his time about it.
 
 28 ON A "WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 "Say Hicks, please bring my shirt down 
 here, will you? It's in the lower east drawer 
 below my table." 
 
 "Well you lazy pup," said Hicks, "I can't 
 see why you don't wait on yourself. Don't 
 you know that my time is valuable? If you 
 call me out here and make me this much 
 trouble again it will go bad with you." 
 
 "Why you blooming idiot! don't you see 
 that I've got my sweater off and it's so wet 
 that I can't get it on again, or at least I 
 won't just after taking a bath?" 
 
 "You won't, eh, well perhaps you won't." 
 
 "You're going to get my shirt for me now 
 aren't you, old boy? That's a nice old fel- 
 low!" 
 
 "No, I can't say I have any such charitable 
 intentions. I'll have to go back into the 
 lab, and think it over anyway." And he 
 went back. 
 
 "0 Miss Keller! Sister!" shouted Milburn. 
 "How long before you're going home?" 
 
 "About half an hour," she called back. 
 
 "Well, but somebody will be eating up my 
 sauce at the club."
 
 TWO STUDENTS OF SCIENCE. 29 
 
 "I don't see what I've got to do with your 
 being late to your supper or with your sauce." 
 
 " You don't, eh? I wish you'd go home." 
 
 "I don't see why." 
 
 "I want to come up there after something." 
 
 "I have no intention of making a meal of 
 you." 
 
 "You'd find him good and tough if you 
 did," said Hicks. 
 
 "Say, sister, you go home!" 
 
 "I won't do it." 
 
 "Say, do you remember that date you have 
 with me for the ball game to-morrow?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well, I'll break it if you don't go home." 
 
 "0 Milburn, don't!" 
 
 "I will though; I can't possibly go, if you 
 keep me down here all night." 
 
 "I'm not keeping you down there." 
 
 "You aren't, eh? Why, good gracious, 
 young lady, if you must know it, there's a 
 part of my raiment in the lab that I must 
 have before I'm presentable in your august 
 presence." 
 
 "0, that's it. That's a good one on you.
 
 30 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 I think you have no one to blame but yourself. 
 It will give you a chance to reflect on your 
 numerous sins." 
 
 "How can a fellow reflect on his sins when 
 he is mortally sure that some one is eating up 
 his sauce? my sauce! My sauce!" 
 
 "It will give you a perfectly splendid chance 
 to learn to be calm under misfortune." 
 
 "You folks seem to bear up wonderfully un- 
 der my misfortune. Say! I've found the 
 nitro-glycerine C. P. bottle down here, and 
 I'm going to set it off if you don't go into the 
 balance room and shut the door a minute." 
 
 "That's all right," shouted Hicks. " We're 
 above the blamed thing and it will send us 
 right up to glory, but may the Lord have 
 mercy on your soul. Your shirt is up here 
 and that will probably go along with us." 
 
 "Say, sister, you go into the balance room a 
 minute and shut the door." 
 
 "Can't afford the time." 
 
 "Yes, you are awfully pressed for time. 
 I've a notion to come up there just as I am." 
 
 "Come on," shouted Hicks, "put rings in
 
 TWO STUDENTS OF SCIENCE. 31 
 
 your ears and a coat of paint on your body and 
 pass yourself off for a Musquakee Indian." 
 
 "Say, sister, I'm coming up there and 
 you'd better leave. I can just see that old 
 'Bones' eating my sauce now. He always 
 does if I am late. Whoopy! Here I come!" 
 Two noisy feet were heard coming up the stairs 
 at a lively rate. Miss Keller, womanlike, 
 sacrificing science to propriety, fled to the 
 balance room and Milburn, triumphant, 
 skipped back bearing his indispensable apparel 
 with him.
 
 Miss Aylesworth's Friend. 
 
 ON SCHEDULED time the train came 
 rushing in as if impelled by the eagerness 
 of the new students to reach this Elysium of 
 their dreams. The bell rang out clear and loud. 
 It seemed vieing with the hearty yells which 
 arose from the throng assembled on the plat- 
 form. They were nearly all students who had 
 come back a day early to visit with old chums 
 and to give the new arrivals a cordial welcome. 
 When the train stopped a few boys and 
 girls wearing badges, which at once identified 
 them as the new student committee, pressed 
 forward to greet the strangers. As one after 
 another appeared, he was instantly relieved of 
 his luggage with such sincere welcome that he 
 began unconsciously to imbibe the college 
 spirit. Now came a girl more attractive than 
 the rest. She was tall and graceful. Her fall 
 traveling suit became her well. She had a 
 vivacious and dignified manner that was truly 
 
 (33)
 
 34 ON A "WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 fascinating. She attracted the attention of a 
 group of boys standing a little aside and sur- 
 veying each new comer critically. 
 
 "There's an all-right girl. I say, fellows, 
 guess I'll try my luck. Glad I swiped this 
 committee badge now. I thought I might 
 need it," and leaving the group, Leland Cur- 
 tis was at her side in a moment. His badge 
 served as an introduction and without fur- 
 ther ceremony, lifting his hat, he asked to 
 carry her grip. 
 
 "My name is Leland Curtis." 
 
 "And mine, Frances Wallace," she answered 
 brightly. 
 
 "Now if you will give me your checks, I'll 
 see to your baggage. You wish it sent to ?" 
 
 "Mears Cottage, please. You are very 
 kind." 
 
 He was off and back in a twinkling, giving 
 the boys a triumphant wink in passing. As 
 they started off down the street, the boys cast 
 envious glances after them. 
 
 "Why didn't I have the nerve to do that?" 
 said one regretfully. 
 
 "He has a good eye, Curtis has. I'll wager
 
 MISS aylesworth's friend. 35 
 
 my hat against a piece of chalk that they'll 
 head the list of solid couples this year," said 
 a second, with the air of one who knew all 
 the mysteries of a solid couple arrangement. 
 
 "Gertrude Manning is in her element now," 
 remarked another admiringly. 
 
 They looked back toward the train. A 
 severely plain, modest looking girl had just 
 appeared. She was not in the least attractive 
 at first glance. Then one noticed a sensitive, 
 almost childish expression that was truly ap- 
 pealing. She seemed timid and the sea of 
 strange faces bewildered her. It was then 
 that Gertrude Manning left the merry circle 
 of friends and came eagerly forward. 
 
 "How do you do? You have come to be 
 one of us I know," she said in her own charm- 
 ing way. "Let me help you with your 
 bundles." A very grateful look lighted up 
 the face of the new girl as Miss Manning took 
 everything into her own hands. 
 
 "Now Miss Hampton, I think we are ready 
 to go. It's just a pleasant walk to your new 
 home. Let's see, you said your home is in 
 Auburn, didn't you? I wonder if you hap-
 
 36 ON" A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 pen to know Miss Aylesworth there? I met 
 her at Lake Geneva last summer." 
 
 "Miss Aylesworth! Oh, do you know her? 
 She persuaded me to come here." And 
 Emma Hampton felt her loneliness depart 
 at once; she had found some one who knew 
 some one she knew. 
 
 "You see," she went on, "she wanted me 
 to come and my folks couldn't afford to send 
 me. I always liked music and she thought I 
 had such a good voice that she wanted me to 
 have it trained. So she wrote down here and 
 found this place for me at Mrs. Shakelford's. 
 I can help with the housework and the chil- 
 dren for my room and board, and my folks can 
 do the rest. It was all her plan." 
 
 "That's splendid. I'm glad you have come 
 and I hope you'll soon feel at home among 
 us." AVhen they reached the house she was 
 already in love with the college and wondered 
 if every one were like Miss Manning. 
 
 In the meantime, Leland Curtis Avas walking 
 slowly with Miss Wallace toward Mears Cot- 
 tage. They reached there all too soon, so he 
 thought, in spite of the fact that he had
 
 MISS aylesworth's friend. 37 
 
 taken her the longest possible way around, 
 and he was forced to give her up to the ten- 
 der mercies of Miss Dorcas, the matron of the 
 Cottage. He was exceedingly suspicious of 
 that lady's mercies. He knew her of old. 
 When he was a sporty Freshman he had been 
 devoted to a gay little miss who lived there, 
 and he had always felt responsible for a good 
 share of Miss Dorcas' gray hair and numerous 
 wrinkles. 
 
 That night on senior floor some of the girls 
 congregated to talk over the possibilities of the 
 new girls. "Oh! have you met Miss Wal- 
 lace?" 
 
 "Yes, isn't she swell?" 
 
 "Isn't she dear!" 
 
 "She's simply fine." 
 
 "We may count on her for basket-ball. 
 She's played a good deal, she says." 
 
 "We must rush her for society too," said a 
 literary enthusiast, the President of Calo- 
 cagathia. 
 
 "Did you see who brought her up to-night?" 
 
 "W T ho?" sounded a chorus of curious voices. 
 
 "Leland Curtis."
 
 38 OX A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 "He did. Well that's lucky. I'm glad he 
 happened to get her. It will give her a good 
 impression of our youths." 
 
 "That's right. Mr. Curtis is the best all- 
 around boy in college." 
 
 "Listen! What's that?" and the chatter 
 ceased in an instant. 
 
 "Lady Dorcas started on her nightly pil- 
 grimage," said one whose ears were trained to 
 listen for those warning sounds. 
 
 "Well, let's adjourn. All in favor please 
 signify by leaving;" and a half dozen girls 
 stole quietly down the hall to their rooms and 
 retired silently by moonlight. 
 
 The next day brought the inevitable regis- 
 tering, the arranging of schedules, conflicts to 
 be straightened out, books to be bought, 
 trunks to be unpacked, rooms to be settled ; 
 an endless list to the poor Freshmen. But 
 the college machinery was soon in order and 
 all thought was turned to Friday night. Then 
 came the grand reception, when everyone 
 meets everyone else and in the morning 
 knows no one. 
 
 Miss Wallace was the belle of the evening.
 
 MISS ayleswokth's fkiend. 39 
 
 She was beautifully gowned and most becom- 
 ingly, the rich, heavy silk setting off her 
 fine figure well. Her fluffy, golden-brown 
 hair waved back from her forehead bewitch- 
 ingly, and her dancing brown eyes were irre- 
 sistible. All the boys were devoted, and the 
 girls, envious. Mr. Curtis thought he had an 
 especial claim to her attention and she seemed 
 to find the claim not irksome. 
 
 Miss Manning was there, looking as sweet 
 and charming as ever. She was piloting 
 Emma Hampton through the company, intro- 
 ducing her to old and new students, and mak- 
 ing her forget that her skirt was not the latest 
 cut and that her waist was made from an old 
 one of her mother's. 
 
 "Mr. Curtis, have you met Miss Hamp- 
 ton?" she said, as Leland came to speak to 
 her. 
 
 "I believe not. I'm glad to meet you, Miss 
 Hampton. Hampton," he repeated thought- 
 fully. "Oh! are you from Auburn? A friend 
 wrote me of a Miss Hampton who Avas coming 
 from there." 
 
 "Yes," and she hesitated a moment, look-
 
 40 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 iug at him closely. Then with a look of eager 
 interest, "Is your friend Miss Aylesworth? 
 Why of course, and you are that Mr. Curtis." 
 
 "Why that Mr. Curtis?" he asked laugh- 
 ing. 
 
 "Why the Mr. Curtis I've heard so much 
 about. I have learned to know Miss Ayles- 
 worth well and she's done so much for me." 
 
 Curtis' smile was credulous and happy. 
 "She wrote me that you sing a good deal. Is 
 your work all in the Conservatory?" 
 
 "No, I have some college work too. I 
 can't sing much, but I like to." 
 
 Miss Manning just then turned to her 
 charge to introduce another friend. So the 
 evening wore away. Emma was happy to have 
 met Mr. Curtis so soon, and although she was 
 very critical, for in her eyes no one could be 
 too good for Alice Aylesworth, she really quite 
 approved of him. 
 
 The next day every one spoke to every one 
 he cared to, taking it for granted they had met 
 at the reception. Then work began in earn- 
 est and all were busy. 
 
 Things ran smoothly and uneventfully dur-
 
 MISS aylesworth's friend. 41 
 
 ing the fall term, the monotony only relieved 
 by a foot-ball game now and then, a class 
 party, a lecture or concert in the Y. M. C. 
 A. course. The fall days were perfect. The 
 air was fresh and invigorating. But the 
 evenings, the moonlight evenings, were simply 
 irresistible to all except the "grinds." It 
 was considered an act of total depravity to 
 study before eight o'clock at least, and all 
 sorts of schemes were concocted for prolong- 
 ing recreation hours. And so the solid 
 couples began to develop, some slowly, some 
 more rapidly, and were watched very eagerly 
 One especially seemed to interest everybody, 
 probably because of the prominence of the two 
 parties, Frances Wallace and Leland Curtis. 
 
 Emma Hampton was the keenest observer of 
 all, but no one knew it. People wondered 
 why Curtis took so much notice of that plain 
 little girl. For Alice's sake he had taken 
 especial care to be kind to her. Then she was 
 a droll little piece, interesting in her way, 
 and he did not mind giving up an evening to 
 her now and thea. She did have a sweet 
 voice and he liked to hear her sing. She felt
 
 42 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 grateful to him. She liked him. He was as 
 gallant to her as he was to Miss Wallace. But 
 above all, because Alice cared for him, he in- 
 terested her especially. But she did not like 
 his marked attention to Miss Wallace. It was 
 beginning to irritate her to see them together. 
 When she shyly intimated as much, Curtis 
 would say, in defense of himself, "You see, 
 Miss Wallace is an awfully nice girl. She's 
 lots of fun to go with and Alice doesn't mind. 
 You know it's my last year and I Avant to 
 make the most of it." 
 
 Miss Wallace confessed to herself that Le- 
 land Curtis was a mighty fine fellow. He was 
 really the only boy in college whose attentions 
 she cared to accept. But she did not care for 
 him. She thought too much of some one else, 
 as semi-weekly letters, written and received, 
 showed. However, it takes but little to 
 weave a romance about two names in a col- 
 lege town and soon people declared that they 
 must be engaged. "Why if they're not, they 
 ought to be," said one jealous little minx, 
 who had tried herself to fascinate that popu- 
 lar fellow and had found him incorrigible.
 
 MISS ayleswoeth's friend. 43 
 
 "They walk together, they ride together, 
 on moonlight nights they go strolling, on 
 stormy nights they sit in the parlor and talk. 
 I'm sure I can't imagine what they find to 
 talk about all the time. Then he takes her 
 to all the receptions and concerts. I'd like 
 to know what more is needed to make them 
 engaged. I wouldn't go with one boy so 
 much, not even with Leland Curtis. I think 
 it's horrid." 
 
 "Sour grapes," retorted her room-mate. 
 She was just beginning to know the bliss of 
 having a youth always on hand, of being sure 
 of an invitation to everything; not obliged to 
 wait in awful suspense till the last minute and 
 then buy her own ticket and go with a crowd 
 of girls. 
 
 "Why will Leland be so devoted to that 
 Miss AVallace? I don't think he should go 
 with girls at all since Alice isn't here," mused 
 Emma Hampton. "I can't bear to see him 
 with any girl now. Of course it's different 
 for him to come to see me, because I know all 
 about it, and it's only for her sake that he 
 comes, or that I care to have him come. If
 
 44 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 she were only here, everything would be all 
 right." 
 
 But as the year wore away, Emma felt a 
 growing uneasiness. She could not tell what 
 it was exactly. It seemed to have developed 
 unconsciously. Was it that college life had 
 shown her so much of which it seemed she 
 could never be a part? Was it because she 
 had seen such a contrast between herself and 
 other girls? No. She had been happy in her 
 college life and college work. She had found 
 some very dear friends among the girls. Ger- 
 trude Manning had proved a friend indeed. 
 Her cordial welcome had shown itself to be 
 sincere and had lasted through the year. She 
 had done well in her music. Everyone 
 praised her voice. What was it? Alice had 
 become dearer than ever to her in their cor- 
 respondence. Mr. Curtis was so good to her. 
 Ah ! was that it? At the thought of him her 
 heart throbbed. She knew that when he was 
 there she was happiest and that when he had 
 gone she was most restless. She knew 
 that his approval of her voice meant more to 
 her than the praise of her instructor. She
 
 MISS AYLESWORTli'S FRIEND. 45 
 
 never sang so well for other people as she 
 sang for him. She found herself looking for- 
 ward too eagerly to his occasional calls. But 
 she convinced herself that it was only because 
 she was a little homesick and he always drove 
 away the blues. Then she could talk of Alice 
 and find a ready listener. 
 
 But when she knew he was coming she 
 finished her work in half the usual time. She 
 was cross to the children if they interrupted her 
 reveries. What should she wear, she queried. 
 To be sure she had not much from which 
 to choose, but she could put a fancy collar 
 on her prettiest gown, and she could do up 
 her hair more becomingly. Would he notice 
 it, she wondered. She arranged her hair a 
 half dozen times, decided which side looked 
 the better and planned to sit so he would see 
 that side. 
 
 Then she stopped to think. What was she 
 doing? It was all foolishness. She was 
 ashamed of herself. But no she was plain at 
 best. He came only from a sense of duty, she 
 told herself at such times, and she must 
 make that duty as pleasant as possible. Le-
 
 46 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 land noticed a change in the girl. She seemed 
 really growing pretty. How much good col- 
 lege life was doing her. Then his thoughts 
 turned to Alice as the cause of it all. 
 
 Commencement week was coming fast, with 
 all its festivities. Everybody was planning 
 for it. So many visitors were coming. 
 Commencement concert was to be the event. 
 
 In due time Frances AYallace received a 
 note from Mr. Curtis, asking for her com- 
 pany. She did not hesitate to accept his in- 
 vitation. She expected it. Of course he 
 would ask her. As she finished the note of 
 acceptance, the servant came to the door with 
 the mail. She took it eagerly. It was time 
 for a semi-weekly. 
 
 "What," she exclaimed aloud, "Harold 
 coming! Yes," and she read on. "I find I 
 have to make a short business trip down your 
 way next week, and I've planned to be with 
 you Tuesday and Wednesday. " " Oh ! its too 
 good to be true," she cried in ecstasy. "What 
 perfect bliss, and he'll be here for the concert ! 
 What luck I hadn't sent that note to Leland. 
 I guess I'd best write another one." Then
 
 MISS ayleswokth's fkiend. 47 
 
 she grew sober for an instant. "But poor Le- 
 land. It's cruel to desert him now. I'm 
 afraid he's learned to care for me. But this 
 will open his eyes, and oh ! how can I wait till 
 Tuesday." 
 
 Meanwhile Curtis was awaiting Frances' 
 reply. Hearing the small errand boy of the 
 house coming down the hall to his room, he 
 thought he might have the desired missive. 
 "I say, bub, did you bring me any mail?" 
 "Yes, one. Seems to me they come pretty 
 often nowadays. I brought you one just like 
 that yesterday." 
 
 "Well, what's it to you? Give it to me." 
 He snatched the letter hastily. It was post- 
 marked "Auburn." "Funny, I must say, she 
 should write so soon. H'm, it's just a note," 
 he said as he tore it open. 
 
 My Dear, 
 
 I haven't time to write but a line, but I 
 have the jolliest news to tell. I've decided at 
 the last minute to come down for commence- 
 ment. Isn't that great? Now don't tell Le- 
 land, not one word. Won't it be a surprise,
 
 48 OX A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 though! Meet me Tuesday P. M., dear. 
 Good-bye till then. 
 
 With lots of love, 
 
 Alice A . 
 
 Auburn, Tuesday, the Fourteenth. 
 
 "How in thunder did this come to me? It 
 must be meant for Miss Hampton. She must 
 have mistaken the envelope in her excitement. 
 Good joke. 'Don't tell Leland,' oh no. 
 'Won't it be a surprise though?' " and he 
 laughed outright. "Tuesday, just in time for 
 the concert. But mister ! Hang it all, any- 
 way! I've asked Frances to go. What in 
 thunder shall I do! I can't break my date 
 now. She hasn't accepted yet, but of course 
 she will. I've got my foot in it now." 
 
 "Mr. Curtis," called his landlady, "here is 
 a note for you." 
 
 "All right. Thank you," he replied, as he 
 went to the stairs to get it. He recognized 
 Frances' dashing hand at once. "I know just 
 what she'll say without opening it," he 
 thought. But he slowly tore it open. His 
 expression changed from perplexity to amaze- 
 ment as he read:
 
 MISS aylesworth's friend. 49 
 
 My Dear Mr. Curtis, 
 
 Let me thank you for your kind invitation 
 to the concert, but a previous engagement 
 makes it impossible for me to accept. 
 Most sincerely, 
 
 Frances Wallice. 
 Wednesday, June fifteenth. 
 
 Curtis was puzzled. "I'd like to know 
 what that means. Pd like to know who has 
 asked her, or whom she'd go with but me," 
 he thought, astounded. "But then, that let's 
 me out all right. Yet I would like to know 
 who has had the audacity to ask her." 
 
 Leland, being a Senior and a very important 
 one, was so busy the next few days that he 
 found it impossible to get around to see Fran- 
 ces, but everybody must know how busy he 
 was, he thought. 
 
 Tuesday came at last. He found himself 
 at the station early. Finally he heard the 
 whistle and his heart beat fast. He watched 
 the people closely. Then he caught sight of 
 Alice. She seemed looking for some one and 
 a shade of disappointment came over her face 
 as she looked in vain. When she stepped off 
 he rushed up with a twinkle in his eye.
 
 50 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 "Well this is a surprise, Alice." 
 
 "Why Leland Curtis, how did you know I 
 was coming? I didn't write to you, did I, 
 and who told you?" 
 
 "Nobody told me but yourself." 
 
 "But I didn't tell you." 
 
 "No, you didn't mean to." 
 
 "Why, what do you mean, Leland?" 
 
 "Well, I imagine perhaps Miss Hampton 
 didn't get her regular letter last week, and 
 maybe I got two." 
 
 "You don't mean that I made a mistake in 
 the envelope!" 
 
 "It would look that way to an outsider. 
 But who cares? You're here now, dear, and 
 its awfully good to see you, little girl." 
 
 Curious eyes and busy tongues were soon at 
 work. The same eyes that saw Curtis there 
 to meet a young lady, saw Miss Wallace there 
 to meet a young man at an earlier train. 
 What more was needed to send Dame Rumor 
 stalking through the college town? 
 
 Alice took a few minutes to run up to see 
 her friend. She was taken completely by sur- 
 prise and an explanation was in order. Then
 
 MISS ayleswoeth's friend. 51 
 
 came the usual messages from home and the 
 innumerable questions about "the folks." 
 
 "But Emma, how pretty you look. It's 
 done my little girl good to come to college," 
 she said, giving her an affectionate kiss. 
 "What were you reading?" she added, seeing 
 a book in her hand. "This is one of Leland's, 
 I know; it's an old favorite of his." Emma 
 started and her face flushed. She had for- 
 gotten for the moment. 
 
 "But isn't he the dearest boy, Emma? 
 Now say he is. You must love him too by 
 this time," she ran on in her ardent, girlish 
 way, too happy to notice any change in her 
 friend. Emma faltered an instant, then she 
 controlled herself at once. Alice should see 
 nothing of her feeling. "Yes, he is very nice. 
 Oh! you must be so happy," she broke out 
 again passionately. 
 
 "I am, but he's waiting for me and I 
 must go. But you haven't sung for me yet. 
 Come now and sing, won't you? Why what's 
 the matter, dear? Are you afraid to sing be- 
 fore Leland? You look as if I'd asked a most 
 dreadful thing of you."
 
 52 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 "Oh! I can't," she gasped. She choked 
 at the thought of singing. 
 
 "Well, little girl, don't be so scared," said 
 Alice, laughingly. "You'll sing for me some 
 time, alone. Leland will think I'm never 
 coming, so good-bye. Come and see me in 
 the morning sure. But don't look so worried, 
 dear. I didn't know you were so timid. You 
 used to like to sing any time. But don't for- 
 get to-morrow morning," and with a hasty kiss 
 she hurried down to Leland. 
 
 Emma stood silent where Alice had left her. 
 She seemed dazed. It was all so sudden. 
 Then she heard the sound of steps on the 
 walk and she went to the window. Emma 
 watched them, motionless, till they disap- 
 peared. Then she flung herself on the bed, 
 and for a moment lay quite still, till suddenly 
 her whole body shook with passionate sobs. 
 She loved her friend. Why had seeing her so 
 happy made her so wretched? She had 
 thought if Alice were only there everything 
 would be all right. But now she could de- 
 ceive herself no longer. And oh! the hope- 
 lessness of it ! What had she done? She had
 
 MISS ayleswoeth's friend. 53 
 
 done nothing, he had done nothing. Why 
 was it? She was utterly miserable. On plea 
 of a sick headache she did not leave her 
 room, and all efforts to persuade her to go to 
 the concert failed. 
 
 No little comment was caused that night by 
 the beautiful stranger with Mr. Curtis. Who 
 could she be, and where was Frances Wallace? 
 
 "Where is Miss Wallace, Leland? I'm 
 anxious to see her," said Alice, when they had 
 taken their seats. 
 
 "I don't know, I haven't seen her yet." 
 
 "And where is Emma, I wonder? Surely, 
 she wouldn't miss this." 
 
 "Oh no, she'll be here. She's been look- 
 ing forward to this concert all spring. It's 
 all she stayed over for." 
 
 Just then, glancing toward the door, he saw 
 Frances enter, escorted by a handsome man, 
 who seemed most devoted. The usher taking 
 their tickets led them down the aisle straight 
 to the row where Alice and Leland were sitting. 
 Frances took the seat next Leland. She 
 looked a little surprised, smiled and bowed, 
 casting a hasty glance toward the occupant of
 
 54 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 the seat the other side of Curtis as she did so. 
 
 "This is a surprise," she said laughingly. 
 
 "Yes, a little. May I have the pleasure of 
 introducing to you my friend Miss Ayles- 
 worth, Miss Wallace?" 
 
 "Miss Aylesworth, I'm happy to know 
 you," she said cordially, "and let me intro- 
 duce Mr. Pembroke, Miss Aylesworth and Mr. 
 Curtis." 
 
 Just then great applause greeted the ap- 
 pearance of the star of the evening. But 
 many eyes wandered away from the soloist and 
 the gossips enjoyed a rare treat.
 
 Her Cousin Rob. 
 
 THE shadows were beginning to stretch 
 across the campus, deepening the chill 
 of a pale October day. The wide-branching elms 
 were almost stripped of their foliage; there 
 was a narrow border of green grass on either 
 side of the winding walks, but elsewhere, it 
 was dry and brown. The buildings loomed 
 up with a dreariness, rather deepened than re- 
 lieved by the bare vines which still clung to 
 their rough sides and trailed over their por- 
 ticos. The tennis courts gave the same im- 
 pression. The nets sagged dejectedly, and 
 the half dozen students who had come out for 
 a last play found it hard to withstand the 
 general gloom. 
 
 "I say, you!" suddenly called out a little 
 red-haired fellow, shivering in a light-colored 
 tennis suit. "I'm going to quit. Tennis has 
 lost its flavor. Freezing doesn't agree with 
 it, nor with me either. Let's go home." 
 
 (55)
 
 56 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 His opponent, a tall, thin young man, who 
 wore spectacles and had a generally senior- 
 like aspect, Avas searching in the grass at the 
 other end of the court, for a ball. 
 
 "You're a lazy little Prep," he remarked 
 without looking up. "If you'd hustle around 
 you might get warm, to say nothing about 
 making a decent play. Look at Hoag and 
 Miss Burgess. That's what I call playing." 
 
 "Pooh!" retorted the Prep, scornfully. 
 "They're too struck on each other to mind 
 the weather. I'm in a perfectly conscious 
 condition yet, thank goodness." 
 
 "No more than they," responded the other, 
 picking up his coat from the grass. "Noth- 
 ing spoony there; they're cousins." 
 
 "Cousins!" ejaculated the Prep. "You 
 don't say! They don't take after the same 
 ancestor, do they?" 
 
 "0 come on to supper, Sonny," said the 
 Senior with good natured indulgence. "What 
 do you know about them? Hoag isn't all 
 bad, or half, for that matter. His cousin tries 
 to look after him, and it may do some good. 
 He thinks a good deal of her, after a fashion."
 
 HEB COUSIN BOB. 57 
 
 The Prep strolled along, his hands in his 
 pockets and his face screwed up into what 
 might be termed a meditative expression. 
 "I don't know," he remarked judicially, 
 "I don't know." The Senior was seized 
 with sudden and unexpected impatience. 
 
 "I'm glad you've found it out," he said 
 sharply. "I was beginning to think you never 
 would come to it. Please don't limit its gen- 
 eral application." 
 
 The Prep appeared unmoved. "Yes," he 
 said serenely, " I guess I didn't know. I 
 guess it isn't Hoag who is struck." Conver- 
 sation languished between the Senior and the 
 Prep. 
 
 In the meantime, the young man and 
 woman, designated as Hoag and Miss Burgess, 
 had finished playing and were leaving the 
 campus. Miss Burgess was speaking and her 
 tone was very persuasive. 
 
 "Please come up Tuesday night, Rob. A 
 Hallowe'en party comes only once a year. 
 I've invited ever so many of your friends and 
 you'll be sure to have a good time."
 
 58 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 There was a shade of deep anxiety on Hoag's 
 open countenance. 
 
 "I'd be delighted to go, you know that, 
 Jessie. But my work now don't laugh it's 
 just piling up." 
 
 Miss Burgess did laugh a little. "That's 
 the first time I ever heard you make that 
 plea," she said. "What's the matter? Ex- 
 aminations?" 
 
 "That's only one thing," he answered, rue- 
 fully. "You know you wanted me to join a 
 society. Well, the boys have just insisted on 
 my writing up things. And what's more, 
 there's something I've got to have done next 
 week, and," with a touch of pathos "I'm so 
 slow. But 'Gopher' Jones promised to help 
 me if I'd come around there Tuesday night." 
 
 Miss Burgess spoke severely: "I know that 
 'Gopher' Jones won't help you do any writ- 
 ing on Hallowe'en. And he isn't the sort," 
 she stopped suddenly, "Robbie dear, won't 
 you come up to my party?" 
 
 The expression on Hoag's face changed from 
 anxiety to patient resignation. 
 
 "I'll come," he said, "even though I have to
 
 HER COUSIN ROB. 59 
 
 study on Sunday to make up. I hate to do 
 that, especially since I know you are so op- 
 posed to it. But they say Professor Eichards 
 looked over examination papers the Sunday 
 after he went with you to the picnic." 
 
 "I know better," and Miss Burgess spoke 
 decidedly. "But it wouldn't make any differ- 
 ence if he did. AVhy, if I should throw my- 
 self into Lake Como, that wouldn't be any 
 reason why you should follow suit, would it?" 
 
 Her cousin smiled into her troubled eyes, 
 hiding the mischief in his own under a look 
 of bland sentimentality. 
 
 "I don't know," he said gently, "but I 
 would, though." 
 
 The girl made a little gesture of despair. 
 
 "You tire me to death with your frivolity, 
 and you know one can't be really angry with 
 you. I'll tell you what, Rob," she said in a 
 different tone, "if you will come to my party, 
 I will help you with whatever you have to 
 write. I would rather do it than have you go 
 off with that Jones. I'll be at home to-mor- 
 row afternoon." 
 
 Hoag suddenly became enthusiastic.
 
 60 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 "You're a brick, Jessie! You're a better 
 writer than Jones, too. I'll go right over and 
 tell him I won't need him. Here you are at 
 home. Shall I come at three? All right. 
 Here's your racket. Good by." 
 
 Miss Burgess paused an instant on the steps to 
 catch a last glimpse of him as he went whist- 
 ling down the street. One was often tempted 
 to do that. Even the "down town" people, 
 from the little kindergarten girls to the old 
 negro who cleaned crossings, were his ardent 
 admirers. This was sometimes a source of 
 anxiety to Miss Burgess, but just now her gray 
 eyes were very bright with approval. She, 
 too, was attractive, but in a different way. 
 Her face was rosy, and she smiled happily, as 
 she went up the steps. 
 
 "He is a dear boy," she said to herself. 
 "He likes to tease me. I believe he didn't 
 intend to have anything to do with that hor- 
 rible Jones." 
 
 But she was mistaken in at least one of her 
 conclusions. Hoag was already on his way to 
 the room of "Gopher" Jones. He found that 
 illustrious gentleman scowling over a pile of
 
 "Shall I come at three ? " 
 
 Page 60.
 
 HER COUSIN ROB. 61 
 
 magazines. He looked up as Hoag entered. 
 
 "Hello 'Kid!' Any developments?" 
 
 "Yes," answered Hoag. "I'm going to a 
 Hallowe'en party up to my cousin's Tuesday 
 evening." 
 
 Jones dropped his magazine. 
 
 "A lot you are! Leave us in the lurch at 
 this late day when you know we depend on 
 you for most of the writing!" 
 
 "Rob sat down on the end of the study table, 
 his hands in his pockets, the embodiment of 
 good-natured indifference. 
 
 "This is rich," he remarked. "You take 
 me into this as a great favor in the way of 
 gaining experience and so forth, and now you 
 hold me responsible for the whole thing. You 
 are consistent, 'Gopher.' " 
 
 Jones began piling up his magazines. 
 "You're fooling," he said. "When you feel 
 like talking sense, come around. I'm busy 
 now." 
 
 Rob still sat on the table. 
 
 "But I mean it!" he declared. "I am go- 
 ing to that party, but in return for the 
 pleasure of my company, my cousin is going
 
 62 ON A WESTERN" CAMPUS. 
 
 to help me with some writing I have to do. 
 See?" 
 
 Jones stared at him. "You're an idiot. 
 She won't do it." 
 
 "She will too. She promised." 
 
 "So much the more confounded idiocy. 
 Why don't you give the thing away to the 
 whole college? Go down and confide in Prex, 
 he may be able to give you some valuable sug- 
 gestions." 
 
 Hoag got down from the table. 
 
 "Shut up with your sarcasm. I know what 
 I am talking about. She'll know I'm in it, of 
 course, but she won't tell on me. And I tell 
 you it's our only chance. I can't do a thing 
 alone. It isn't a bad idea, either, rather 
 novel to have a girl like her in it." 
 
 Jones' scowl relaxed a little. 
 
 "Eather," he admitted. "But I'm afraid 
 you're running a risk, old man." 
 
 "You needn't be afraid of getting into 
 it," retorted Hoag, going toward the door. 
 "But if you really feel timid and would like 
 to get out of the business, I presume I can get 
 some other girl to take your place." And he
 
 HER COUSIN ROB. 63 
 
 dodged down the stairway just in time to 
 escape a Latin grammar from the hand of the 
 irascible Jones. 
 
 Miss Burgess found her cousin waiting for 
 her at three the next day. 
 
 "I am surprised," she declared, "and ever 
 so curious to know what in the line of work 
 can have such an attraction for you. I am 
 not a bit sure I can help. It isn't a political 
 paper, is it?" 
 
 "Not exactly," and Hoag smiled grimly. 
 "I'm sorry, Jessie, but I can't tell you all 
 about it, not till after it comes off anyway. 
 It's a secret, you see. As far as I'm con- 
 cerned, I'd be willing to have you know, but 
 a fellow must keep his word to the others. 
 Now don't look that way. All I want you to 
 do is to write some verse, in fact, some 
 epitaphs." 
 
 "Epitaphs! Rob Hoag! For whom, I'd be 
 pleased to know?" 
 
 "0, for a number of people," answered 
 Hoag, coolly, "a few of the Seniors, but 
 mostly Faculty. It's just a joke. 'Twon't 
 phase the Seniors or the Faculty either,"
 
 64 ON A WESTERN" CAMPUS. 
 
 "I suppose the Faculty never go to society," 
 suggested Miss Burgess, somewhat doubtfully. 
 
 "Never," and a look of mingled surprise 
 and amusement flitted over Hoag's face. 
 
 "At any rate, I think they'd prefer your 
 verse to Jones'." 
 
 The allusion to Jones had its desired effect* 
 Miss Burgess forgot her misgivings, and was 
 soon busy writing, and however dissatisfied 
 she may have been with the result, her cousin 
 was very much pleased and grateful as well. 
 
 "Truly, Jessie," he declared as he took his 
 leave, "I don't know Avhat I'd ever do down 
 here without my cousin." 
 
 And Miss Burgess, tired and still burdened 
 with a sort of doubtful feeling in the depths 
 of her consciousness, decided that perhaps it 
 was worth while after all. At least, she was 
 one ahead of that horrible Jones. 
 
 Tuesday evening was warm and clear. 
 "Just the right sort of an evening," more 
 than one busy student might have been heard 
 to murmur, as he looked away from his books 
 out into the dimly lighted streets. It seemed 
 to have been the right sort of an evening for
 
 HER COUSIN ROB. 65 
 
 the party; at any rate even the hostess was 
 satisfied with the success of her undertaking, 
 and not a small element in her satisfaction 
 was the fact that her cousin was there, the 
 merriest and most entertaining of all her 
 guests. She even felt a little lenient toward 
 "Gopher" Jones, who, poor fellow, must go 
 out on his dark mission of removing gates and 
 overturning sidewalks without the cheering 
 presence of her cousin Rob. 
 
 For his part, Hoag was still very grateful, 
 and so attentive to her during the evening, 
 that the Senior came near losing his temper 
 for the second time. But nothing was to be 
 gained in that way, so he contented himself 
 with admiring her from the other side of the 
 fireplace as they sat around it, telling stories. 
 
 She was very quiet and he wondered, in a 
 sentimental fashion, what she was thinking of. 
 But it would not have consoled him to know, 
 for she was dreaming of her cousin, winning 
 group honors, graduating as valedictorian per- 
 haps, and the president saying beautiful things 
 about him, while all his relatives were delight- 
 fully surprised and everyone was saying, "It
 
 66 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 was Jessie's influence that did it." 
 
 She was still in a very happy frame of 
 mind as she walked down the street to break- 
 fast the next morning. An overturned side- 
 walk caught her attention. 
 
 "Bob didn't do it," she thought triumph- 
 antly. "I believe he is outgrowing such things 
 anyway," and she remembered that whenever 
 she had seen him lately he was hurrying 
 across the campus or through the corridors 
 with the energetic swing which betokens the 
 busy student. 
 
 Her thought ran on, "I wonder what they 
 did do, they must have been planning some- 
 thing. I'll find out at the club." Her curi- 
 osity was thoroughly aroused as she entered 
 the hall, for an unusal commotion could be 
 heard in the dining-room. 
 
 "What is it?" she demanded as she entered. 
 "Anything new?" 
 
 "Well, I should say so!" "Haven't you 
 heard?" "Why, the greatest thing!" came 
 from various directions. "They've buried 
 the Faculty!" 
 
 "What! Where?" Miss Burgess gasped.
 
 HER COUSIN ROB. 67 
 
 ''Look at her!" laughed a bright-eyed 
 Sophomore who succeeded best in being heard 
 above the commotion. "Girls, she's going to 
 dig them up. Don't worry, dear; this won't 
 hurt them a mite; it's nothing compared with 
 some of their previous experiences. You see 
 there are little mounds, and tombstones on 
 the mounds, and epitaphs on the tombstones. 
 And I forgot to say that the mounds are in 
 the north-east corner of the campus." 
 
 The Sophomore paused an instant for 
 breath, and then went on. "Mr. Decker has 
 been up there, and we're all going up right 
 after breakfast. You're late, Jessie. Girls, 
 pass her the milk. That's another thing you 
 missed, Jessie. There was real cream on the 
 top of that milk when I got here this morn- 
 ing. 1 poured it on my oatmeal and then kept 
 it until the others came and could see it. But 
 when Mr. Decker told his story, I ate my oat- 
 meal and forgot all about the cream." 
 
 Miss Burgess began her breakfast, only half 
 heeding the chatter, until a sentence caught 
 her attention. 
 
 "That wasn't bad," the Sophomore was
 
 68 ON A WESTEEN CAMPUS. 
 
 saying, "about Prof. Dixon and his measure- 
 ments. Not even a Hallowe'en joker would 
 be very hard on him." 
 
 Miss Burgess looked up with a sudden vague 
 uneasiness. The Sophomore met her ques- 
 tioning glance. 
 
 "Oh, you haven't heard it," she said. "Mr. 
 Decker copied that for the benefit of the 
 Freshmen over there who are studying astron- 
 omy. Here 'tis. I'll read it again: 
 
 'He measured the distance between the stars, 
 
 The circumference of the sun, 
 But these measurements were naught to him, 
 
 There were harder yet undone. 
 So the depth of the average student's mind 
 
 The old hero tried to sound; 
 The shock was too great, he measures now 
 
 But four by six of ground.' " 
 
 "Oh say! read the other one!" demanded 
 a sad-faced youth from the opposite side of 
 the table. "That's a sight better. I could 
 listen to it all day and only mourn that it's too 
 good to be true. Whoever the author of those 
 lovely lines may be, I tell you his soul is akin 
 to mine. And I'm willing to wager my next 
 piece of pie that his suffered the same hard-
 
 HER COUSIN ROB. 69 
 
 ships mine did in the last chem. exam. Now 
 just read that lyric again." 
 
 "I don't know whether I'd better or not," 
 answered the Sophomore. "It seems to be 
 the means of developing a very bloodthirsty 
 spirit in your hitherto gentle nature. But if 
 you'll try to calm yourself, I'll read it to Miss 
 Burgess. Jessie, listen to these 'lovely lines,' " 
 and the Sophomore read in tragic tones : 
 
 "Here lies the cold remains of him who with 
 
 great fervor taught 
 That atom clings to atom, that every one is 
 
 fraught 
 With power to clutch each other, to rend, and 
 
 e'en to save 
 Some smaller, weaker atom, from a weaker 
 
 atom's grave. 
 He joyed in fumes sulphurous, in smoke and 
 
 ghastly puff 
 Of acid eating acid, till it eaten had enough; 
 So since he's left these realms of light, in 
 
 midst of curdled gloom, 
 Old Pluto hath his dwelling fixed and fur- 
 nished up his room." 
 
 "Oh, ecstasy! ecstasy!" murmured the sad- 
 faced student. "Would that I could have had 
 a hand in it! Here, Barnes!" he called out,
 
 70 ON A AVESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 with sudden reA T i\*al of spirit, to a young man 
 about to leaA'e the room, "if you're going 
 down town, just step into Thompson's and or- 
 der a nickle's worth of forget-me-nots to be 
 sent up to the college cemetery, at my charge. 
 There's nothing small about me Avhen my feel- 
 ings are concerned." 
 
 The buzz of conA*ersation went on as before, 
 but Miss Burgess didn't say a word. She felt 
 her face flame ; her toast choked her ; and she 
 Avas exceedingly thankful Avhen she Avas left 
 alone in the dining room Avith injunctions to 
 hurry. She hoped that they would go and 
 leave her, but they did not, so she went Avith 
 them to the campus, dreading to attract their 
 attention to herself by refusing to go. 
 
 It Avas worse than she had anticipated, for 
 quite a crowd Avas already on the campus. 
 They Avere gathering around a little open 
 space beyond the tennis courts, where could be 
 seen the black mounds with their conspicuous 
 headboards. The epitaphs Avere written on 
 paper tacked to the boards. 
 
 It was Avith anguish of soul that Miss Bur- 
 gess listened to the reading of the epitaphs
 
 HER COUSIN ROB. 71 
 
 and the laughing and talking which accom- 
 panied it. Near her the Sophomore's voice 
 rang out with, 
 
 ''Professor Snow in this mound below, 
 
 A director of youthful ideas. 
 
 'Neath a green coverlid is the dear fellow hid, 
 
 Nevermore to be able to see us. 
 
 His demise is sad, but there's nothing to add 
 
 Of 'mysterious dispensations,' 
 
 We must say for truth's sake, that he took, 
 
 by mistake, 
 One of his own examinations." 
 
 "Didn't they honor Prexy!" came from 
 another direction. "His is the only Latin one 
 in the lot. My ! but wouldn't the shades of 
 the old poets have groaned if they had passed 
 this way last night!" 
 
 "Lugete, Veneres Cupidinesque, 
 Noster Princeps sepultus est sub terra. 
 Nos luximus dum vobis cum hie vixit, 
 Justum est nunc ut vestri ocelli rubent." 
 
 Miss Burgess suddenly turned. The sound 
 of a very familiar voice came from a group of 
 young men behind her. 
 
 "Impudent, aren't they?" one of them was
 
 72 ON A WESTEEN CAMPUS. 
 
 saying. "Wonder who did it. Bet 'twas the 
 town boys." 
 
 She waited to hear no more, but with a sud- 
 den feeling of vindictiveness she walked away 
 across the campus. 
 
 "He might have staid away," she said to 
 herself, "at least while I was there." Her 
 mind was in a tumult. What would they all 
 think of her if they knew ! She, Jessie Bur- 
 gess, an upper classman, and at the head of 
 some half dozen organizations. All at once 
 she heard steps behind her. Her first thought 
 was of her cousin. "I could choke him," she 
 muttered under her breath and walked on as 
 fast as she could. The one who followed 
 gained on her, and almost caught up with her, 
 but she would not look at him. 
 
 "Miss Burgess," he said. 
 
 She turned sharply. It was the tall, dark 
 Senior. Her face flushed painfully. 
 
 "I didn't think, I thought it was Rob," 
 she stammered and then she wished she had 
 said anything else. He seemed to take no no- 
 tice of her embarassment, however, and began 
 talking about the tombstones. "They are mak-
 
 HER COUSIN ROB. 73 
 
 ing quite an exciting thing out of it," he said, 
 "but it will all blow over by night. The Fac- 
 ulty won't pay any attention to it just a 
 boyish prank. And the epitaphs are excep- 
 tionally mild shows that the one avIio got 
 them up isn't a real rowdy. A harmless trick, 
 I call it." 
 
 Then he talked on about other things, never 
 giving her time to say a word until he left her 
 at the corner, half laughing, half crying. 
 
 "The great goose!" she said to herself as 
 she went on alone. "He thinks Rob did it 
 and wanted to comfort me. What would he 
 say if he knew!" 
 
 She started early to chapel that morning to 
 avoid the company of the other girls of the 
 house, who were still talking about the 
 epitaphs. By doing so, she met President 
 Dean on the campus and was obliged to walk 
 to chapel with him. He waited an instant for 
 her, and as she joined him, he lifted his hat so 
 courteously, and beamed upon her so approv- 
 ingly, that her cup was quite full. 
 
 "Have you seen our little cemetery up 
 here?" he asked after his brusque "Good
 
 74 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 morning," and then laughed heartily at her 
 evident embarrassment as she stammered a 
 reply. 
 
 "We don't care," he said good-naturedly. 
 "Some one has wasted a lot of energy, that's 
 all. Mark my word, if I wanted to find the 
 author, which I don't, I would look among 
 the E's. Students who get such reports as 
 yours, Miss Jessie, don't have time for such 
 nonsense." 
 
 And he thought her extremely modest as he 
 glanced at the scarlet face. 
 
 It seemed to her that chapel would never 
 be over that morning. To her distorted 
 imagination the tutor in Greek had hung 
 about his youthful neck a white slab, with 
 "Bless our Baby" upon it, while a red and 
 green halo surrounded the head of the senior 
 philosophy Professor. 
 
 "When chapel was over, she walked quickly 
 away, looking neither to right nor left, but 
 again she was overtaken, and this time it was 
 Hoag. He greeted her cheerfully and then 
 presented in an awed tone the all-prevailing 
 question :
 
 HER COUSIN ROB. 75 
 
 "Have you seen them?" 
 
 Miss Burgess neither looked at him nor re- 
 plied, but he talked on, volubly. 
 
 "Great shame, isn't it? I'd like to know 
 who did it. What do you suppose they'd do 
 to him if they found out? My ! he must have 
 had cheek! Oh, do you recite here? Good- 
 by." 
 
 That was not all. Hoag met her a dozen 
 times in the next few days, always with a re- 
 mark ready. 
 
 "Do you remember that verse about Prof. 
 White? Wasn't it audacious?" or, "That 
 epitaph keeps ringing in my ears." 
 
 He tired of it after a little and everyone 
 else ceased to speak of the affair, but Miss 
 Burgess could hardly forget it. She treated 
 her cousin with a steady coolness which that 
 young man found quite depressing. One 
 morning near the close of the term, he found 
 her in the library, and went up to her with 
 a most lugubrious countenance. 
 
 "Cousin Jessie," he said, "I am going into 
 a decline. The rigor of the climate is too 
 much for me. And, Jessie, as a last request,
 
 76 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 will you write an epitaph for me? I don't 
 care about your nattering me much, but I 
 wish you'd say that toward the last I repented 
 my former wickedness and tried to be honest. 
 Please be thinking about it, for I may need it 
 soon." 
 
 Strange to say, instead of being angry, she 
 forgave him immediately. 
 
 The Senior, who soon discovered the changed 
 relations, was magnanimous enough to say that 
 he was glad of it. 
 
 "None of the rest of us thought it was so 
 bad," he said, "but you, being a young 
 woman with a very high standard of honor, 
 and Rob's cousin, may have looked at it from 
 a little different standpoint." 
 
 She replied meekly that perhaps she did.
 
 II. 
 
 PORTRAITS.
 
 Jack Dumbaugh. 
 
 EVERY fellow who had been in college for 
 six weeks knew Jack Dumbaugh. He 
 had the reputation of being "queer," not ob- 
 trusively so, but enough to make him a sub- 
 ject of frequent comment. The first day he 
 came to town in the fall of 189 , "Big" 
 Crane, the captain of the 'Varsity, was at the 
 station with the manager of the team, on the 
 lookout for any promising candidates. As 
 Jack swung off the train, the two watchers 
 spied him and, going up, introduced them- 
 selves. After giving him some pointers as to 
 rooms, Crane asked Jack, commenting on the 
 fact that he was well built and sinewy, 
 whether he had ever played foot-ball. Al- 
 though forced to admit that he had not, Jack 
 said that 'he would be willing to come out and 
 practice for a while at least, but being a new 
 man, he supposed that he would not make 
 much of a showing the first season. ' 
 
 (79)
 
 80 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 He found a room in the central part of the 
 town, as near the business portion as the stud- 
 ents were allowed to live, and picked up as his 
 room-mate a sophomore, Fred Durnham. He 
 registered Junior, but to all the students' in- 
 quiries as to where he had prepared for that 
 class, he would only reply that he had been 
 for two years in a small college in his own 
 state, Ohio. Contrary to his expectations, he 
 exhibited a good deal of skill in foot-ball, 
 gaining a position as sub-end, but as "Spike" 
 English, who played tackle on Jack's side, 
 used to put it, "You can't depend on Dum- 
 baugh ; sometimes he will get in and break up 
 the interference as quick as a flash, but at 
 other times he won't get started until the half 
 has got clear to him, and he can't touch the 
 interference." Still, although he would sur- 
 prise and delight the spectators by his occa- 
 sional brilliant plays, he was by no means pop- 
 ular among the boys. For he was always in a 
 serious mood, sometimes even irritable when 
 the coach pointed out the mistakes he had 
 made in practice, though he invariably apolo- 
 gized later for his hot temper. He was a good
 
 JACK DUMBAUGH. 81 
 
 student, but his instructors were unable to 
 understand him, for although he paid the 
 strictest attention, as soon as he had re- 
 cited, he seemed to have no further interest in 
 the class, and often what interest he did ex- 
 hibit was mechanical. 
 
 There sprang up a strange friendship be- 
 tween Jack and his room-mate. Fred Durn- 
 ham was a jolly, impulsive young fellow, al- 
 ways on the lookout for something to get him 
 into trouble ; but he thought a great deal of 
 Jack. Often when he would come into the 
 room after some lark, and find Jack settled 
 back comfortably in a rocker studying or gaz- 
 ing vacantly at the ceiling, he would imagine 
 that he was homesick, and would give him a 
 long account of the boys' doings, trying to in- 
 duce him to join the crowd in some of their 
 fun. Jack never seemed to be troubled by 
 these interruptions, however, but when Fred 
 had finished, he cautioned him about going 
 too far and getting sent home. The only 
 social affair which Jack attended, was the an- 
 nual reception given by the senior girls to the 
 foot-ball team. When "Big" Crane first told
 
 82 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 him about the reception, Jack utterly refused 
 to go, declaring he could not be hired to at- 
 tend any of those dress affairs ; but upon Crane's 
 representing to him that the girls had planned 
 on a certain number being present, and that it 
 would upset all their arrangements unless he 
 went, he relented. Instead of proving hard 
 to be entertained, Jack was very much of a 
 success as a listener, and established himself 
 readily in the good graces of his hostesses. 
 Fred was delighted at the reports he heard, 
 and thought that Jack was going to reform 
 immediately. Yet after this event he drew 
 back into his shell again, and hardly went out 
 of the house except to his meals and recita- 
 tions. 
 
 The junior class decided to present Hamlet 
 during the spring term, instead of publishing 
 the regular Junior Annual, and every member 
 of the class felt that Dumbaugh was the man 
 to take the leading role, but Jack again re- 
 fused to accept any position which would 
 make him prominent. Night after night, Ray 
 Howell, the manager of the play, came over 
 to his room and reasoned Avith him. Finding
 
 JACK DUMBAUGH. 83 
 
 that no personal appeal would persuade Jack, 
 he tried a different line of argument. "Why, 
 it isn't that you keep yourself from getting a 
 reputation, Jack you don't care a snap for 
 that, I suppose but the class needs you. 
 You have an entirely different temperament 
 from any of the other fellows, and you would 
 be just suited to represent Hamlet." "Well," 
 replied Jack, with a good deal of spirit, 
 "there have been many Hamlets in this world, 
 men who have suffered from just such doubts 
 and struggles as he did; but if you are certain 
 that I am best fitted to represent him, I'll try 
 it." 
 
 The weekly rehearsals began about the first 
 of March, and by the last of April, the parts 
 had been well committed. Although satisfied 
 that he had made the best selection of char- 
 acters, Howell was often perplexed as he 
 watched Jack. One week he would put the 
 most intense meaning into his words, the 
 next, he seemed as far away from the play as 
 though he were reciting a passage from some 
 comedy. "I do wish I could make that fellow 
 out," he said to the trainer. "I know that
 
 84 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 he has the right part, aDd he probably will 
 make a success of it, but there is something 
 the matter with him, and I can't find out 
 what it is. You can't rely on him for any 
 length of time whatever." The final dress 
 rehearsal, the afternoon before the play, was a 
 sorry time for the actors. Jack was unable to 
 go through with his part at all creditably. 
 He did not make himself heard half way 
 across the room, and even made a few slight 
 Omissions. Howell was in despair. 
 
 Evening came and the house was packed. 
 It was not a large building, eight hundred filled 
 it comfortably, but to-night fully a thous- 
 and had crowded the ground floor and the 
 one small gallery, half an hour before the play 
 was advertised to begin. The front seats were 
 reserved, according to the usual custom, for 
 the Seniors, but with this exception the crowd 
 was very much mixed. The students were al- 
 most all there, and jolly couples scattered 
 through the audience were discussing the 
 play and the actors. Directly back of the 
 Seniors were several of the older citizens of 
 the town, who had come to join the students,
 
 JACK DUMBAUGH. 85 
 
 and lose themselves in the happiness and 
 eagerness of the younger part of the audience. 
 The stage and gallery draped with Old Gold, 
 and the yellow tulips of the ushers 
 gave evidence of the class spirit and in- 
 terest. As they passed back and forth trying 
 to crowd chairs down the aisles for those 
 standing in the rear of the building, they 
 heard many comments on the rehearsals and 
 the prospects for the play. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Crane," said Miss Eldredge, the 
 freshman belle of the college, to the sedate 
 Senior at her side, "do you think that Mr. 
 Dumbaugh will make a failure to-night? The 
 girls were saying that he couldn't do a thing 
 this afternoon, and Avouldn't it be perfectly 
 dreadful if he should spoil it now!" 
 
 In one corner of the room, far back under 
 the gallery, sat an old couple, the parents of 
 one of the actors. 
 
 "No, Mary," said the father, "I don't be- 
 lieve in sending Lafe off to school to learn 
 no acting. I would rather have kept him 
 ter home on the farm with me, but he is 
 most through now, and he has behaved him-
 
 86 ON A WESTERN" CAMPUS. 
 
 self pretty well, so I guess we won't say noth- 
 ing about this." 
 
 "I wouldn't, John," she replied, "Just 
 think how hard Lafe studies, and you know 
 he is taking this instead of foot-ball this 
 spring. He promised me he wouldn't put on 
 one of them suits all this term if I would let 
 him go into this." 
 
 "What a creditable sacrifice Lafe Tenant is 
 making," said a mischievous youth behind 
 the old couple to his companion, "but I sup- 
 pose the folks appreciate it." 
 
 All unconscious of the mirth her remark 
 had created, the fond mother was straining 
 her eyes to catch the first glimpse of her son. 
 The scene on the curtain, a street in Venice, 
 proved a source of interest to some of the 
 audience. The slender gondolas and the pic- 
 turesque gondoliers were variously com- 
 mented upon, but even with this diversion 
 time passed slowly for the anxious crowd. 
 
 At last the college orchestra was through 
 with the Danube Waltzes and the curtain 
 rolled slowly up. The stage was small, 
 although the scenery had been skillfully ar-
 
 JACK DUMBAUGH. 87 
 
 ranged so that the action did not reveal how 
 cramped the players really were. During the 
 first scene the mass of people below seemed ex- 
 pectant and uneasy, but when Jack came upon 
 the stage, an almost painful silence came over 
 them as they listened for his first words, ut- 
 tered slowly and penetrating to the farthest 
 part of the building. "A little more than kin 
 and less than kind. " His voice and manner 
 were in perfect unison with the character he 
 was portraying, and as Howell heard him, he 
 congratulated himself again on his selection. 
 As soon as the first act was over, Jack 
 hurried to a dressing room and locked the 
 door. Then he took from his pocket a small 
 hypodermic syringe and three white tablets. 
 These he crushed in his palm, and drawing a 
 syringe full of water from a tumbler on the 
 window, he slowly dropped it on the powder 
 until it was dissolved. Then taking the solu- 
 tion up again into the syringe, he inserted the 
 hollow needle into his bared arm, injected the 
 contents, and withdrew the instrument. 
 After holding his finger for a moment over 
 the puncture in his arm, he hastily drew down
 
 88 OU A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 his sleeve and started for the door. Just as 
 he unlocked it and stepped out into the pas- 
 sage-way, he ran into Fred, who had come up 
 to congratulate his room-mate. 
 
 "Hello, old man!" burst out the joyful 
 youth, slapping him on the shoulder, "I've 
 been looking everywhere for you ; where have 
 you been hiding? Why, you are altogether 
 too modest. I never thought that I'd see you 
 turn such an actor as you are to-night. Some 
 scamp was telling me that you had lost your 
 nerve this afternoon, but he is singing a dif- 
 ferent tune now." Jack listened to his en- 
 thusiastic greeting with a smile, but had to 
 hasten back to the stage without making any 
 reply. "Well, that man Dumbaugh is a sur- 
 prise," was the comment that Fred heard as 
 he edged his way back to his seat. "How 
 natural his acting is!" 
 
 In the closing scene, the audience was 
 hushed with deep feeling as Jack challenged 
 Laertes to renew the contest, and, with a 
 thrill of triumphant joy, accomplished on 
 the king his long-sought revenge. When the 
 curtain fell, Fred again hurried back to the
 
 JACK DUMBAUGH. 89 
 
 dressing-room, where he met Jack before, and 
 found him sitting on a table listless and ut- 
 terly exhausted. From the stage could be 
 heard the merry voices of the Juniors as they 
 greeted one and another of the actors, and 
 soon there were loud calls for Dumbaugh. As 
 he heard his name, Jack roused up a little, 
 and telling Fred that he was too tired to see 
 anyone, they went out by the stage entrance, 
 and hurried home. Here Jack threw himself 
 upon his bed, and with instructions to Fred 
 to let no one disturb him, fell into a troubled 
 sleep. To the fellows who came around to see 
 Dumbaugh, Fred explained that he was very 
 tired and had gone to bed, asking that no one 
 disturb him. All the next day Jack lay in a 
 dazed condition. He refused to let Fred send 
 for a physician, assuring him that he was all 
 right, only very much worn, but insisted on 
 his keeping everyone out. Toward night he 
 came over to the table where Fred was study- 
 ing, and threw himself into the rocker, where 
 he sat in silence for several minutes, looking 
 around the room. Finally he said, "Fred, I 
 got a letter from an uncle out West the other
 
 90 ON A WESTEEN CAMPUS. 
 
 day, asking me to come out there and live 
 with him. I know the fellows will quiz you, 
 so I won't tell you just where I am going, but 
 I shall never be back again. I thought I had 
 better say nothing about this before the play, 
 as it would only trouble you ; but my uncle 
 told me to come as soon as possible, and I 
 wrote him that I would start to-night, so I am 
 going to pack up my things, and go on the 
 eleven o'clock 'flyer.' Please inform the 
 President to-morrow, but tell htm that you 
 know nothing definite about my destination, 
 and do not understand my purpose in leaving. 
 But above all never say a word to any of the 
 boys about this." 
 
 To all Fred's entreaties to wait a day or 
 two, Jack would only reply that he could not 
 disappoint those who were expecting him. 
 There was a determined look on Jack's face 
 which Fred had not seen there before, so he 
 did not say another word, but thinking that 
 Jack had some trouble which ho could not tell, 
 he almost reproached himself for being so self- 
 ish that even his room-mate would not make 
 a confidant of him. At half-past ten the two
 
 Above all, never say a word to any of the boys 
 about this." 
 
 Page 90.
 
 JACK DUMBAUGH. 91 
 
 boys went down to the depot. Fred was afraid 
 to trust himself to say anything. As the train 
 was pulling out Jack caught his room-mate's 
 hand in a firm grip and said: "Fred, you have 
 been a true friend to me. If I can I'll write 
 you. God forgive me if I have done you any 
 harm." Then the train was off and Fred 
 stood watching it till he could no longer dis- 
 tinguished the two red lights at the rear. 
 
 The next morning Fred went to the President 
 and told him that Dumbaugh had left school, 
 without giving any explanation of his 
 action. As soon as Jack's departure was 
 known, the most intense interest was aroused, 
 and a great variety of theories was adduced to 
 explain it. About a week later a group of 
 boys were gathered in Fred's room discussing 
 the topic they could not drop from their 
 thoughts. 
 
 "I'll bet you," said "Nick" Trevers, "that 
 Dumbaugh had a girl somewhere around, and 
 he got so homesick that he couldn't stand it; 
 so after his success here, he thought he'd go 
 and tell her about it ; ten to one it was back 
 in Ohio where he went to school."
 
 92 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 "Yes, he did act like a love-sick looney, 
 didn't he," added Bartlett. "You couldn't 
 get him to look at a girl once a fortnight." 
 
 "No," interjected Crane, "that man had 
 something more than love affairs on the brain. 
 I have played foot-ball four years, and I know 
 that when a man acts as Dumbaugh did oc- 
 casionally, there is something more serious 
 the trouble with him. But I can't see 
 through it." 
 
 After they had gone, Fred sat down in 
 Jack's old rocker, and took from his pocket a 
 letter already worn, which, with a heavy 
 heart, he read once more. 
 
 Denver, Col., May 21st, 189. 
 Dear Fred: 
 
 I must tell you my whole story so that you 
 can understand my actions at school and my 
 reasons for leaving, for I am sure that you 
 never suspected anything of what I am going 
 to tell you. 
 
 My grandfather was an habitual user of mor- 
 phine and died from the effects of the habit. 
 My father, however, although he inherited the 
 desire for it, had sufficient moral courage to 
 resist; but I had not, and began to use it 
 when I was fifteen. Just before my eighteenth
 
 JACK DUMBAUGH. 93 
 
 birthday, father heard that I was using the 
 drug, and he was so angry that he would not 
 let me live in the house. He promised me 
 $500 a year, and more, if I needed it, but told 
 me to go somewhere and get rid of my cursed 
 habit. I thought that I had plenty of will- 
 power and could do it easily, so, as I told you, 
 I went to a college near home for two years, 
 but did not dare go home, for I could not 
 break myself of the habit entirely, though 
 using smaller and smaller quantities. On 
 the advice of a physician, I made a change 
 at the close of the two years, thinking that, 
 by so doing, I might get some strength. 
 Last fall I used very little of the drug but 
 occasionally before a game, I would take 
 enough to brace me up. When I came to the 
 play, the strain was too great, and I had been 
 taking morphine regularly, since the re- 
 hearsals began. Just before the play, I took 
 a heavy dose, enough, as I thought, to influ- 
 ence me during the evening, but after the first 
 act I felt weak and had just taken more when 
 you found me in the dressing-room. Then I 
 realized that if I stayed there much longer, I 
 would become so dependent upon it that my 
 use of it must be discovered, and I decided to 
 come out here to a private sanitarium in 
 charge of an old friend of my father's. The 
 story about my uncle was, as you will see, en-
 
 94 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 tirely fictitious, but I could not tell you the 
 awful truth. I am doing as well as possible. 
 The physician says that there is a good chance 
 of my getting entirely cured of the habit, al- 
 though he has seldom treated anyone who be- 
 gan to use morphine as young as I did. At 
 any rate I believe it is my last hope. Don't 
 tell any of the fellows, for I can't bear to have 
 them know how weak I am. It will not do 
 any good to trace me, for if I do get well I 
 shall stay out here; but don't forget me, Fred. 
 I didn't intend to write you such a long let- 
 ter, but I have never before bared my soul to 
 anyone, and I can trust you, 
 
 Your sincere friend, 
 
 Jack Dumbaugh. 
 
 For a long time Fred sat staring at the let- 
 ter in his hand, thinking of the comments the 
 boys had made, but at last he spoke fiercely : 
 "Why couldn't he have told us! We might 
 have helped him." 
 
 Then he twisted the letter up, and touching 
 a match to it, threw it into the grate, while 
 to his mind there came, "The heart knoweth 
 his own bitterness."
 
 In the Fall of the Year. 
 
 THE lengthening shadows fell upon the lit- 
 tle town of Herndon in quite the usual 
 manner, but this evening the pulse of life 
 seemed to throb a little faster than it had for 
 several months, for the summer sleep of the 
 college town was over. 
 
 All day the busy students had been hurry- 
 ing along the shady streets, back and forth 
 from the campus to the various houses which 
 for nine months in the year they call home. In 
 the changing crowd of gay young people there 
 was talk of registration, new teachers, new 
 clubs, and all those innumerable things which 
 have a part in the annual settling of the stu- 
 dents. Sometimes there was an exchange of 
 vacation experiences and a few words of regret 
 over some friend or classmate who had not re- 
 turned. But that was among those students 
 to whom the broad, straight streets were famil- 
 iar; who knew the hitching-post at which old 
 
 (95)
 
 96 ON" A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 Jennings' apple-wagon was always tied when 
 he was in town. They knew too who those 
 orthodox people were who had not as yet 
 abandoned the fences about their homes. Yet 
 even the old students spoke for the most part 
 of the new year just opening, and altogether 
 they gave a sense of thorough awakening and 
 newness of life to the streets, shaded by the 
 green arch of maple, locust and cotton-wood 
 trees. 
 
 In a large, well-kept, shady yard, surround- 
 ing a rambling brick house on College street, 
 an old gentleman sat at a rustic table, which 
 he had moved from its usual place on the 
 porch to a bench under the great elm tree. 
 More than one group of passing students had 
 looked in longingly at the cool, inviting shade, 
 but the Professor had placed his bench where 
 a large clump of lilac and snow-ball bushes 
 screened it from the street, so, for the most 
 part, he was unnoticed. Scattered all about 
 him were books and papers, for he had tried 
 to busy himself through the warm afternoon, 
 working over his translation of Paul's epistles. 
 But as he sat there writing or turning the
 
 IN THE FALL OF THE YEAE. 97 
 
 leaves of his reference books, there was an air 
 of dejection in the attitude of the bent figure, 
 and too often, with his gray head thrown 
 slightly back, he gazed absently up the street. 
 Any one seeing his face once would have felt an 
 impulse to look again. For though worn and 
 wrinkled, it had those deep, clear, gray eyes in 
 which the soul so often appears. Experience 
 of the noblest kind was written there, yet to- 
 day a shadow rested on that usually placid 
 face, for this man was passing through a new 
 and sobering experience. 
 
 For more than a score of years he had been 
 connected with the college up the street. He 
 had filled the chair of Greek, and watched the 
 rapid development of the school with the 
 deepest interest. Having that temperament 
 which drives a man whole-souled into the thing 
 nearest, he had given his best life to the 
 building up of this college. But now his part 
 in the activity of it all was over. He had in- 
 tended to extend his vacation into October, 
 but when the second week in September came, 
 he was back in Herndon. He belonged here. 
 He could not stay away.
 
 98 OK A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 A crowd of students passed down the street, 
 keeping time to a lively march which they 
 were whistling. They made a gay company 
 as they swung along, followed by the college 
 mascot, a ragged poodle, decorated with the 
 college colors. A good-natured toAvnsman 
 passed them and said, laughing: 
 
 "Here, don't paint the town too red, boys. 
 Not all of a sudden." But he added to him- 
 self, "They don't know how much good it 
 does us all to have 'em back." Then looking 
 in toward the brick house, "I wonder if Mit- 
 chell doesn't feel a little lost these days." 
 
 The lines in Professor Mitchell's face deep- 
 ened as he looked after the boys, and he 
 pushed his work from him impatiently. But 
 in doing so he shoved one of the books off the 
 table. It was the Bible and, smiling at his 
 own bitter thoughts, the Professor leaned for- 
 ward to pick it up. As he did so his eye 
 caught the words on the open page, "But now 
 having no more place in these parts ". He 
 closed the book almost roughly, but opened it 
 again half unconsciously, trying to find the 
 same line, while he asked himself once more:
 
 IN THE FALL OF THE YEAR. 99 
 
 "Can I ever be satisfied to stop and stagnate 
 while all the work goes on? Why must I ?" 
 Then in answer to the thought, "They also 
 serve who only stand and wait," he exclaimed 
 aloud: "That is hardly twentieth century 
 philosophy. But it is over now, and yet if I 
 could only feel that after all it had really been 
 of any use!" and the gray head sank a little 
 lower. 
 
 Suddenly he was conscious that a party of 
 students had stopped on the corner opposite. 
 Turning towards the street, he heard the en- 
 thusiastic voice and saw the bright face of a 
 blonde girl in the conventional blue blazer. 
 She was facing the setting sun and saying in 
 a clear voice: "How lovely! I'm so glad I 
 made you stop to look. Do you always have 
 such sunsets in Herndon?" 
 
 "That is fine," admitted the short dark fel- 
 low who had been her companion as they came 
 up the street. "I suppose they would all 
 pass, Miss Taylor, if one ever had time to look 
 at them. But you'll soon have something else 
 to do." 
 
 Owens, being a Sophomore, considered this
 
 100 ON A WESTEKN CAMPUS. 
 
 to be the correct way to impress new students. 
 However, the little blonde did not seem to be 
 impressed, but went on with what Owens con- 
 sidered the naive rapture of the unsophisti- 
 cated. Still he smiled assent for she was 
 such a pretty girl, and she made a lovely pic- 
 ture of youthful enthusiasm as she stood a 
 little apart from her companions, gazing down 
 the wide, shaded street, where the glorious 
 light of the Iowa sunset was turning the 
 leaves to gold, and making the arc lights 
 gleam like balls of fire. Out beyond the tree- 
 bordered street, she saw the broad prairie, 
 rolling out to meet the splendor of the west- 
 ern sky, a molten mass of colors shading into 
 opal tints, and the indescribable beauty of the 
 sunset glow enchanted her. But Professor 
 Mitchell looked with admiration at the girl as 
 she stood there in the reflected light, her 
 slight figure so full of life, and not till she 
 turned again to her companions did he resume 
 his work, letting his fingers beat a nervous 
 tattoo on the edge of the table. 
 
 "While Leonore Taylor and Frank Owens had 
 been discussing the sunset, a girl wearing the
 
 IN THE FALL OF THE YEAE. 101 
 
 scarlet badge of the Reception Committee had 
 tried to entertain the other member of the 
 party young Taylor, who was getting his first 
 impressions of Hawkeye. She was chatting 
 about the Y. M. and Y. W. C. A. reception 
 and what the prospects were of knowing any 
 one on Monday whom you had met Saturday 
 night. But at the same time she had been 
 watching the progress of a tall fellow in a 
 gray suit, who was coming rapidly down the 
 street toward them. Now she stepped for- 
 ward to meet him and offered her hand with a 
 bright smile, saying: "Mr. Berry, I'm very 
 glad to see you. When did you get back?" 
 
 "I came down on the Central just now. 
 Think every one came down on that train or 
 met it. There was a bigger jam than usual. 
 I looked for you but didn't see you ; supposed 
 you were piloting some new people, so " 
 
 "You remind me! We have two new Fresh- 
 men here and are on our way to supper. I'll 
 introduce you." 
 
 As they turned to the others the Senior and 
 Sophomore shook hands so heartily that Tay- 
 lor, the new Freshman, wished he was not
 
 102 OK A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 quite so new. But he felt better when, after 
 the introductions, Owens said: "This is Dick 
 Maxwell's friend, who is going to do some- 
 thing for us in athletics." And the Senior 
 turned on him an interested and approving 
 stare, saying, "Oh, yes! Dick wrote me about 
 your coming down. We need all you new 
 men and we'll count on your filling Dick's 
 place." Then to the others, "What's the dis- 
 cussion?" 
 
 "Nothing, only Mr. Owens was trying to 
 show Herndon scenery to our prot6g6s in- 
 stead of taking them to supper. I suggest we 
 go on." 
 
 "Well, Frank needn't be in too much of a 
 hurry about showing off our scenery. We may 
 have what some one called, 'The splendid 
 scenery of the sky,' but as Miss Kimball said 
 last year, 'People generally find no trouble 
 about taking in most of the scenery around 
 here during their first year. ' You can appre- 
 ciate the fine irony of that remark later in the 
 year, Miss Taylor." 
 
 Then the party strolled up the street, but 
 were stopped directly opposite the lilac bushes
 
 IN THE FALL OF THE YEAR. 103 
 
 by a boyish looking, blue-eyed youth, who ap- 
 peared suddenly amid a great racket of whir- 
 ring wheels, bicycle bell and a wild-cat whistle. 
 He leaned his wheel against a convenient tree 
 and, after politely doing his duty to the others 
 of the party, threw himself impulsively on the 
 Senior. Berry put one arm around him and 
 patted him on the head as he said : 
 
 "Well, well, Clark! I wondered that the 
 omnipresent Prep hadn't appeared before. 
 Oh there now, don't look so injured. It is a 
 Freshman. And just think, you won't have a 
 chance to exercise that pull you used to brag 
 about so modestly. How many new Profs 
 there are! Have you met any of 'em?" 
 
 By this time the ex-Prep had wriggled away 
 and composed himself. But now he made a 
 wry face, struck an attitude and answered: 
 
 "Not I! I'll put off the evil day as long as 
 possible." 
 
 But Berry was looking in toward the brick 
 house and at last he said : 
 
 "Beally, people, talking about new Profs, 
 I can't help thinking about what we have lost 
 and what these new people have missed."
 
 104 ON A WESTEEN CAMPUS. 
 
 "Now I say," groaned Clark, "what have 
 we done to deserve this, and so soon? I see 
 he is about to mount his hobby and his 'high 
 seriousness' is more than I can bear. I beg to 
 be excused." And with an all-including wave 
 of his cap, he swung himself upon his wheel 
 and departed as hastily as he had come. 
 
 They all laughed as they looked after him 
 and the Senior would have followed him, but 
 Miss Taylor exclaimed: 
 
 "Oh tell us about your hobby any way! 
 What or whom have we missed?" 
 
 Berry smiled and said: 
 
 "Clark always groans over my extreme ad- 
 miration for Professor Mitchell. But he can't 
 say anything against him. You ought to hear 
 him try! It's all his way. He really thinks 
 just as I do. Prof lives in here," turning his 
 head toward the brick house. "Used to be 
 the Greek Professor. He has been here a long 
 time and has just about half made the college. 
 He has influenced more students and done 
 more real good than any one man I ever knew. 
 What I was thinking was, that, though the 
 new Prof may teach the 'Freshies' to scan
 
 IN THE FALL OF THE TEAE. 105 
 
 Homer, etc., in quite the same way, it will be 
 a long time before we find anybody who will 
 teach the 'Menschen-Liebe' that he used to 
 throw in. You'll never know just what you 
 missed by not coming before his day was 
 over. " 
 
 As Berry paused almost out of breath after 
 his outburst of "high seriousness", Gertrude 
 Manning said : 
 
 "Oh don't say 'his day is over' in that tone. 
 Of course we're all sorry to have him quit ac- 
 tive work, but think of the spirit he has put 
 into old Hawkeye. Haven't you ever noticed 
 that the very books he has put into the 
 Library with those 'exam' fees, which he al- 
 ways looked apologies for collecting, are full 
 of him the things he loved best? He didn't 
 always buy for his own department either! 
 And, as you said yourself, he has influenced 
 so many people. His day isn't over!" 
 
 "Well I guess you're right, Gertrude, you 
 mostly are. At least I'd better say so now, 
 for between the sunset and an argument our 
 friends won't get their supper. The sight of 
 Clark has reminded me that I promised to
 
 106 OK A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 meet some fellows down town at six, and I'm 
 late now. Bring Taylor over to the room after 
 supper, Frank; the new coach is going to be 
 there and I want the fellows to meet him." 
 And tipping his gray cap he was off down the 
 street whistling "Co-ed." 
 
 It had been only a little thing, this meeting 
 on the corner. But as the students walked up 
 toward the "club," the tea-bell rang in the 
 brick house, and the old man, who mounted 
 the steps in answer to its summons, looked 
 satisfied.
 
 Brainard's Transformation. 
 
 PAUL BRAINARD was probably about as 
 conceited a person as anyone whose 
 name had been entered on the Registrar's 
 books since the founding of Hawkeye College. 
 In truth his conceit was colossal. But in the 
 second semester of his sophomore year a 
 change came over him, and when it was seen 
 that the change was permanent it became a 
 much mooted question, what had caused 
 Brainard's transformation. 
 
 It happened in this way. It was Thursday 
 noon. The daily grind was again over, and 
 as he had been more than usually fortunate in 
 escaping flunks that forenoon, he was enjoying 
 to the fullest extent the bracing February air 
 in the bright sunshine, as he walked from the 
 campus to his room. He was not enough of a 
 philosopher to define his view of life, but if he 
 had been able to put it into words it would have 
 been found that he considered an indefinite 
 
 (107)
 
 108 OK A WESTEKN CAMPUS. 
 
 something given to him, out of which he was 
 proposing to get a maximum of pleasure with 
 a minimum of effort. And so it was entirely 
 in accordance with his nature that, as he 
 passed along the street, he should feel that all 
 the beauties of this winter day were intended 
 principally for his benefit; and also that it 
 should suddenly strike him, as it often did, 
 that he was a pretty good sort of a fellow, 
 take him any way you pleased. He drew his 
 shoulders back, tilted his cap a little more to 
 one side, in order that his black curls might 
 show to a better advantage, and smiled from 
 pure joy in his own personal appearance. He 
 wished that he might meet that junior girl 
 who had so deliberately "bagged" him at the 
 time of the last lecture, and he resolved to go 
 into Chapel late the next morning to attract 
 her attention to his good looks. So impressed 
 was he with his own importance, that he failed 
 to recognize a Prep, whom he met at the foot 
 of the stairs leading to his room; and the 
 Prep was so very young and inexperienced in 
 the ways of the college world, that he consid- 
 ered this lack of notice as the thing to be ex-
 
 BRAINARD'S TRANSFORMATION". 109 
 
 pected as a matter of course from all college 
 men. 
 
 Brainard mounted the stairs, entered his 
 room, and throwing his overcoat, hat and 
 books on a couch sank into a willow chair with 
 a sigh of content. He and his room-mate, Bob 
 NeAvbold, occupied a room in a house not far 
 from the campus and it was furnished with 
 rather more elegance than is usual in a boy's 
 room in a Western college town. As he sat in 
 his easy chair, he surveyed the room approv- 
 ingly. In the center of a Turkish rug stood 
 a small table, upon which lay a couple of 
 meerschaum pipes, a box of Yale Mixture, 
 several copies of Mwisey's, a hand-mirror, and 
 a deck of cards. At one end of the room hung 
 dark brown chenille curtains which half hid 
 the bed and the bureau, and upon which were 
 pinned various souvenirs of class parties with 
 concert and field-day programs. The walls 
 were covered with photographs, half-tones of 
 the college athletic teams, and snap shots of 
 various scenes of college life, while twined 
 around all were the college colors, giving a 
 touch of brilliancy to the otherwise dull back-
 
 110 ON A AVESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 ground. In a corner stood a couple of tennis 
 rackets and a guitar also decorated with the 
 college ribbons, while in every chair, on the 
 couch, and on the floor near the window, were 
 pillows of all shapes, sizes, and stuffing. To 
 Brainard these were closely associated with 
 some of the faces looking down from the 
 walls, most of them being gifts from some of 
 his "old girls". His glance wandered across 
 to the opposite corner where his room-mate's 
 desk stood, and he vaguely wondered why Bob 
 did not put some of his pictures on the wall 
 instead of sticking them in pigeon-holes, en- 
 tirely forgetting that he himself had so 
 monopolized the wall space that there would 
 be no other alternative, than to sky them like 
 the work of unknown artists at the exhibi- 
 tions. He looked at his watch, and finding that 
 it was already past dinner time, he jumped up 
 hastily and started to put on his overcoat ; but 
 as he turned around an unopened letter lying 
 on his desk attracted his attention. Crossing 
 over quickly he picked it up. He saw that it 
 was from his mother and, opening carelessly, 
 he read:
 
 brainard's transformation. Ill 
 
 Wapello, Wednesday, Feb. 11, 189. 
 My Dear Paul : 
 
 I have not heard from you for some time, 
 but I know that you are so busy with your 
 studies that your time is limited. I, too, am 
 very busy but I think of you every day, and 
 often wish I might run in now and then and 
 see you. We have just had a very heavy fall 
 of snow, the trees in the yard are drifted full, 
 and the branches bend under the load. It 
 makes me think of the times when you were a 
 little boy, and used to enjoy, so much, shovel- 
 ling paths and building snow houses in the 
 drifts. 
 
 I received some very sad news this morning, 
 which also made me think of your boyhood 
 and your playmates. I heard only a little 
 while ago that Laura Gardner was dead. She 
 died at about one o'clock this morning. Her 
 death was entirely unexpected, as she had 
 been ill but a few days, with what was sup- 
 posed to be intermittent fever but which the 
 doctors now think to have been typhoid. I 
 am very sorry for her poor mother. I will 
 go over to-day to see her. Laura is to be 
 buried on Friday, services at the church 
 
 He could read no more. A torrent of recol- 
 lections of his childhood poured in upon him,
 
 112 ON" A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 and crumpling the trembling paper in his 
 hand, he turned to his easy chair, and sinking 
 into it sat gazing out of the window at the 
 house across the street. 
 
 As he gazed, his surroundings seemed to 
 fade away and he found himself again living 
 his boyhood. He saw again the quiet farm- 
 house, standing half-hidden by the trees, in 
 the midst of the velvety lawn with its patches 
 of sunlight and shadow. He could see the 
 great, rambling barns with their hot, dusty 
 mows filled to the eaves with the fragrant 
 prairie hay; he could see the cool, shady 
 grove, and the creek winding about under the 
 willows, where the rippling water, the sighing 
 wind, the rustling leaves, the far away, mourn- 
 ful coo of the turtle dove, the occasional 
 drumming of the woodpecker, and the monot- 
 onous buzzing of insects, united to form a har- 
 mony and rhythm knoAvn to no other music 
 than Nature's. He recalled the broad ex- 
 panse of sky as seen from the meadow, 
 whence, on summer evenings, one could watch 
 the sun go down, and trace the almost imper- 
 ceptible fading of color until only a few light-
 
 brainard's transformation. 113 
 
 tinged clouds were visible, where but a short 
 time before there had gleamed a crimson 
 glory. And into all these pictures of the past, 
 there came the face and form of a brown- 
 haired lassie Laura his playmate. 
 
 A flapping screen on one of the windows of 
 the house across the street caught his eye, and 
 he wondered why the people did not take 
 down their screens in the winter time or, if 
 they would leave them up, why they did not 
 at least fix them so that the wind could not 
 blow them about. Then his thoughts drifted 
 back into reverie. 
 
 Playmates yes what happy times they had, 
 playing together day after day, running races 
 on the lawn until they were tired, and then 
 swinging in the hammock with the summer 
 breeze fanning their flushed cheeks. He re- 
 membered how on clear moonlight nights they 
 used to sit on the rustic bench under the big 
 evergreen, watching the stars and counting 
 the meteors, as they shot for a moment into 
 sight, and then disappeared into darkness ; and 
 he seemed to hear again Laura's little scream 
 of delight whenever she saw one first. He
 
 114 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 thought of the hide-and-seek in the barn on 
 rainy days ; of the fun they had jumping from 
 the big beams into the soft hay; how once 
 Laura had slipped and fallen into a dark oat- 
 bin, and he had impetuously plunged in after, 
 where they remained in mutual terror until 
 rescued by one of the work-hands. He 
 thought of the hot, sultry afternoons spent 
 under the willows by the bend of the creek, 
 building houses by packing the damp sand 
 around, their bare feet, and constructing forts 
 garrisoned by companies of sticks, with corn- 
 cobs for cannon, and pebbles for ammunition. 
 He thought of their tent under the hemlock 
 trees by the big boulder, where they played at 
 being Indians, and feasted on dainties procured 
 by stealth from their mothers' pantries. He 
 thought of the long tramps over the 'meadows 
 to the spring, gathering the beautiful wild 
 flowers, tiger-lilies, phlox, and golden-rod 
 to make bouquets to appease the wrath of 
 anxious mothers. 
 
 And this girl, just blooming into woman- 
 hood, with all the possibilties of a noble life 
 before her, was dead. Yes, dead! And it
 
 brainard's transformation. 115 
 
 seemed to break the last link between him and 
 his own past. That sunny face glowing with 
 health, was now ashen and cold; those laugh- 
 ing eyes were glazed. What did it mean? 
 
 For a long time he sat musing, lost in con- 
 templation of the reality of death, brought 
 home to him now as never before. His reverie 
 was suddenly ended by the arrival of his room- 
 mate, who came rushing up the stairs, three 
 steps at a time, and burst into the room with : 
 
 "Look a' here, you confounded idiot, what 
 in the deuce 's the matter with you, that you 
 didn't come to dinner?" And then seeing the 
 letter, "Old man given you the g. b., eh?" 
 
 Paul looked up with a half smile and said, 
 "No. Just got some bad news girl I used to 
 know died yesterday. Been dreaming I guess." 
 
 That afternoon he packed a few things in his 
 grip and quietly announced to the astounded 
 Bob, that he was going home on the evening- 
 train; that he didn't have to go; that Prex 
 knew he was going and had excused him ; and 
 that he would be back in a few days. The latter 
 in answer to questions.
 
 116 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 A delayed train caused him to miss connec- 
 tions and prevented his arrival in time for the 
 funeral. But the day after, he went over to 
 the little cemetery on the bleak hill-side. The 
 new-made grave showed distinctly, a black 
 mound of earth standing out in marked con- 
 trast to the ghostly whiteness of the snow cov- 
 ered prairies. Crawling through the barbed- 
 wire fence he made his way to it. All around, 
 the trampled snow gave mute evidence of the 
 good- will of the country people toward Laura. 
 For the day of the funeral had been dark, 
 threatening and bitterly cold, and the tracks 
 showed that many had braved the weather to 
 witness the last sad rites. 
 
 There beneath a weight of frozen earth, lay 
 the form of Laura Gardner, shut out from the 
 warmth and comfort of life forever forever 
 eternity. A shadowy conception of the vastness 
 of the term began to steal over him and he began 
 to see the insignificance of the individual and 
 the omnipotence of the Infinite. 
 
 He began to see how men could "die every 
 minute forgotten swept into heaps like 
 autumn leaves, their lives mere soil and
 
 So he stood with bowed head-
 
 brainard's transformation. 117 
 
 foothold for the generations that come after 
 them." 
 
 And there in his soul he fought out a battle 
 between the selfishness of his nature which 
 had grown unconsciously, until it had become 
 a part of himself; and altruism now for the 
 first time became more than a mere word to 
 him. Altruism, which commanded a recogni- 
 tion of the rights of others and a life devoted 
 to their welfare. So he stood with bowed 
 head until the dusk began to shade into dark- 
 ness. Finally his meditation was broken by 
 the jingle of sleigh-bells and the crunch of the 
 runners cutting through the snow. After the 
 sleigh had passed, he laid on the grave a sprig 
 of holly, that Laura had loved so well, and 
 then turned quickly away. 
 
 On Monday, after an affectionate farewell to 
 his mother, he returned to college. All 
 through the long journey, the throb of the 
 engine, the rattle of the cars, the clickity- 
 clack, clickity-clack of the wheels, seemed but 
 an accompaniment to his reveries. He did 
 not notice the sunless landscape, as it racep 
 past the car windows, until he neared the col-
 
 118 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 lege town. Then as he came in sight of the 
 college buildings, there dawned upon him a 
 fuller realization of the meaning of the change 
 that had come over him, its relation to his 
 daily life, and the difficulties he would have to 
 meet in trying to live up to his new ideals. 
 For a moment his decision wavered. It would 
 be so much easier to go back and live the old 
 life outwardly, justifying himself by his in- 
 ward change for the better, and waiting for 
 time to bring about the outward change. But 
 it was only for a moment that he hesitated, 
 for there came to him the memory of a new- 
 made grave and a bleak, wind-swept hill-side, 
 and with that memory, the battle he had 
 fought there. He left the train with a 
 stronger resolution than before, to live an un- 
 selfish life. 
 
 He never told of the circumstances that led 
 to the change, but as time went on, everyone 
 came to know and rejoice in Brainard's trans- 
 formation.
 
 III. 
 
 RECREATION.
 
 Winning the Emblem. 
 
 * f\/ES, we must get the Meet to-day, for 
 I that 'State Cup' looks a pile better up 
 in Hawkeye College Library than it would any 
 where else in the state." 
 
 "That's right, Fred, it does," replied 
 "Spike" English, "and we don't want to be 
 the fellows to let it go either." 
 
 The two boys were riding in the Rock-Island 
 flyer bound for the Iowa Capitol. Two long 
 strips of canvas outside the car, bearing in 
 scarlet and black lettering the words "Hawk- 
 eye College Track Team," sufficiently adver- 
 tised the occupants to every farm house and 
 village as the train sped along ; while the team, 
 and the two hundred students accompanying 
 them to the State Meet, took advantage of the 
 one stop to throw up the windows of their 
 coaches, and give a rousing college yell to the 
 crowd around the low brick station. 
 
 Durnham had changed somewhat in the 
 
 (121)
 
 122 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 year since Dumbaugh had left, but he was still 
 the irrepressible Fred. He had not met with 
 much success in his athletic attempts during 
 his sophomore year; in fact some of those 
 supercilious beings who are, themselves, too 
 lazy to train, but are always trying to discour- 
 age a fellow unless he can beat a state record 
 after three months' training, advised him to 
 give it up and rest awhile. Fred took their 
 chaffing good-naturedly, however, and kept 
 pegging away, so that in his second season he 
 had worked into pretty good form. "Spike" 
 English gave him a deal of help. "Spike" 
 was a heavy-set man, whom two years of foot- 
 ball had pounded into as solid a specimen as 
 any one would care to run up against, and his 
 wind was perfect. Though Fred could keep 
 close behind him every night in practice, he 
 had never been able to beat him, so that the 
 boys nicknamed him "Spike's Shadow". 
 There was only one fault with "Spike" ; he ran 
 too "heavy", so that his ankles were apt to 
 trouble him in the final sprint, but he had 
 been very careful during the week before the 
 Meet, and did not anticipate any trouble from
 
 WINNING THE EMBLEM. 123 
 
 them. In talking over the events, however, 
 the boys agreed that "Spike" should set the 
 pace in both the "half" and the "mile", 
 though Fred was to stick right by him up to 
 the finish. There was not the least rivalry be- 
 tween them, when they came to an intercol- 
 legiate contest; either one would work to give 
 his mate a better chance for a place. 
 
 While they were discussing these points, Capt. 
 Trevers came up to them. "Plotting again, I 
 see," he said, taking a seat on the arm of the 
 chair. "Well, that is a good sign, seven points 
 in two events 'cinched' if Fred doesn't get run 
 off his legs on the home stretch, and won't he 
 feel swell with that 'H' on his sweater." 
 
 As they were nearing East Des Moines, at 
 the very out skirts of the city, they could 
 make out the long, low sheds of the Fair 
 Grounds, where the afternoon games were to 
 be held ; then on a hill off to the North they 
 got a view of the State Capitol with its gilded 
 dome. 
 
 At the depot the team immediately packed 
 themselves and their grips into two 'buses and 
 hurried to the Kirkwood, impartially decorated
 
 124 ON A WESTEBN CAMPUS. 
 
 with the colors of the half dozen competing 
 colleges, where they proceeded to stow away a 
 good amount of roast beef, potatoes, toast, and 
 oranges. Eay Howell, the only fellow on the 
 team who refused to board at the training 
 table, called for pie as usual, and his request 
 was met by so much raillery that he offered to 
 bet "the pie" with every fellow on the team, 
 that he would put the shot over thirty-six feet 
 in the afternoon, and his bet was readily 
 taken. 
 
 Dinner over, the boys loafed around the cor- 
 ridors for a while, guessing at the scores the 
 different colleges would make, and striking up 
 acquaintances with the men from Phillips Col- 
 lege, who also had their headquarters at the 
 Kirkwood ; but they were glad when it came 
 time to go to the field. As they drove out 
 Grand Avenue and over the bridge, they 
 passed many groups of students and alumni 
 wearing their colors, and leaning out of the 
 'bus windows, the team made the street ring 
 with the Hawkeye yells. The amphitheater 
 presented a gay scene as they entered the 
 grounds. Long stretches of white and blue,
 
 WINNING THE EMBLEM. 125 
 
 cardinal, purple, and scarlet and black bunt- 
 ing fluttered from every post and cross-piece 
 in the grand stand. 
 
 "Now every man get around to our quar- 
 ters and keep low until his event," said 
 Coach "Mike" Stevens as the boys jumped 
 out of the buses. The boys soon found the 
 dressing-room under the grand stand with the 
 scarlet "H" over the door; and most of those 
 entered in the first events stretched them- 
 selves out at once on the cots, while "Mike" 
 and Trevers went around to the group of 
 officials in the judges' stand to find out who of 
 the contestants entered were to be "protest- 
 ed". "Mike" was a dark-complexioned man 
 of average height, about thirty-five years of 
 age, but with all the vigor of his college days. 
 He practiced medicine in Chicago, but now 
 for the second season he had lelt his work in 
 the spring, and come out to coach Hawkeye's 
 track team for a couple of months. He had 
 a wonderful faculty of getting the most 
 out of a team, and had changed many a soft, 
 awkward candidate into a strong, self-reliant 
 athlete, so that the boys all swore by "Mike".
 
 126 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 Just before two o'clock the first call for the 
 fifty -yard dash is given. "Nick" Trevers and 
 Harry Bartlett get into their running togs and 
 hurry out, for "Nick" wants to examine the 
 track and pick out the best places, trusting to 
 luck that Harry and he will draw the right 
 numbers. He is not disappointed in the track 
 either. It is in nearly as perfect condition 
 as one can find short of a cinder track. The 
 rain a few days previous had beaten it down, 
 while the June sun, warm, but not hot 
 enough to bake it, had left it as smooth and 
 springy as the most exacting track captain 
 could wish. "If the wind keeps down, there 
 will be some records smashed," he says to 
 Harry. Harry grins for answer; he is an irre- 
 sponsible youth, no slouch, however, when it 
 comes to getting over ground in short order. 
 He has been watching the crowd in the grand 
 stand, by this time packed from the top row to 
 the wire netting which prevents the spectators 
 from pushing out upon the track. And a gay 
 crowd it is at least six hundred students 
 wearing their long streamers of college colors, 
 some scarcely daring to hope that their ath-
 
 WINKING THE EMBLEM. 127 
 
 letes will carry home the silver emblem of vic- 
 tory, but all impatient for the contests to be- 
 gin. There are some two hundred from Phil- 
 lips College and about the same number from 
 Hawkeye, while a hundred are gathered 
 around the purple banner of Barrington Uni- 
 versity. 
 
 The State Normal School have a con- 
 tingent of fifty to cheer on their athletes 
 in the only event of which they are sure the 
 high jump. But the citizens far outnumber 
 the students whose representatives are about 
 to contend for the State Championship. 
 Traveling men by the score, merchants, pro- 
 fessional men, and clerks have taken an after- 
 noon off to watch the sports. Here and there 
 are the parents of some of the contestants, 
 whose anxious faces show their high hopes of 
 seeing their sons win glory for their college 
 and themselves. 
 
 At last the men line up at the scratch and 
 at the crack of the pistol they dash down the 
 stretch. Hearing the report, Fred slips 
 around the corner of the building to take a 
 look. "The old 'Nick' first," he yells back
 
 128 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 to the boys, "and Harry a close second. Just 
 the right way to start the thing." 
 
 The afternoon passes rapidly as the events 
 are run off, and the points are distributed 
 among the various colleges. Phillips College 
 is Hawkeye's closest rival. They take first in 
 the hammer-throw, hurdles, and pole-vault, 
 and a generous number of seconds and thirds 
 those places not so eagerly fought for, but 
 which, nevertheless, generally decide a meet. 
 The "half" and mile run have by some mis- 
 take been placed pretty close together on the 
 list, so after the "half" in which "Spike" and 
 Fred come in ahead with a good lead, the 
 management decides to make the "mile" the 
 last event, and the boys again stretch them- 
 selves out to wait with as good grace as possi- 
 ble. "Nick" Trevers has chalked out on the 
 side of the dressing-room, so that all the boys 
 can see them, the events and the points each 
 college gets out of them. As word from the 
 shot-put comes in he adds: "H 1st, 36 ft. 2 
 in. Howell." "Just so," bursts out the Senior 
 as he comes tearing through the door and 
 looks at the record, "and I'm all ready for
 
 WINNING THE EMBLEM. 129 
 
 that pie too. When are you fellows going to 
 pay your debts, eh?" u 0h shut up, you idiot," 
 replies Trevers, "and give the boys a chance 
 to rest," and he goes on with his figuring. 
 
 The last event but the mile run has come 
 off and, with a troubled face, "Nick" puts 
 down in large characters : 
 
 PHILLIPS, 36. 
 
 HAWKEYE, 36. 
 
 BARRINGTON, 22. 
 
 "There seems to be no show for us, 'Spike', " 
 he said, going up to English who was pacing 
 the room, "limbering up", "unless you get this 
 'mile'. That Phillips man, Allison, gave you 
 fellows a hot chase in the 'half, aiid we can't 
 rely on Fred in the 'mile'. A 'kid' of 
 eighteen is sure to lose his head when it comes 
 to a pinch, though Fred will do his best, 
 bring us a third anyhow. Set Allison a kill- 
 ing pace from the start and let Fred keep up 
 as long as he can." 
 
 The men are slipping on their "spikes" and 
 hunting around for their "grips", as the an- 
 nouncer sticks his head in at the door and 
 calls out, "Third and final call for the mile
 
 130 ON" A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 run. " In a moment they are out on the track. 
 There are only eight men to start in this race 
 and all, except the men wearing the cardinal 
 emblem of Phillips, are from the colleges 
 which have not run up large enough scores to 
 make them the cause of any anxiety. Allison 
 draws first place and "Spike," fourth, while 
 Fred has to content himself with last choice. 
 They throAV their sweaters to the "swipes", 
 and take their places on the scratch, the scar- 
 let cross at both ends of the long row of con- 
 testants. "Now keep cool, Fred, and don't 
 lose your nerve," said "Mike" taking Fred's 
 sweater. "Are you ready," calls the starter, 
 "get on your marks, set!" As the pistol 
 snaps, the men spring forward, "Spike" 
 jumps into the lead with his long stride, start- 
 ing out at a furious pace.*' Allison falls in be- 
 hind him, and Fred next. These three "trail" 
 around the track, the other runners bunch 
 and keep some yards back of the leaders from 
 the very start. 
 
 All the contestants have left the dressing- 
 room, and in some kind of costume or other 
 have gathered along the side of the track to
 
 WINNING THE EMBLEM. 131 
 
 watch the race, every one glad that his share 
 of the work is done. Nothing makes a track 
 man feel so cheerful as the consciousness of 
 having earned a goodly number of points for 
 his college ; the weeks and months of training 
 seem short when a fellow can look back at 
 them as a victor; while if he has-been beaten, 
 he still knows that the training will stand him 
 in good stead for another year's work. 
 "Nick" Trevers, Bartlett, and Howell were 
 standing with "Mike" at the tape, "waiting 
 to see 'Spike' and his shadow go flitting by," 
 as Howell phrases it. 
 
 The three head men have the same order as 
 they pass the judges' stand, and at the tap of 
 the bell they settled down for the second hard 
 lap. "Spike" is running his usual strong 
 race, his legs go like clockwork, and he knows 
 as well as though he were holding a stop- 
 watch what time he is making. Three years on 
 the track have given him a good head for 
 gauging his pace. Allison is a fine specimen 
 of an athlete with his six feet of well knit 
 muscle, and it seems only a pleasure to him 
 to "trail" "Spike" at any pace he can set
 
 132 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 him. "You just watch old Allison fool that 
 Hawkeye man on the home stretch," says a 
 Phillips student to his companion, "he knows 
 the odds at stake as well as the next man." 
 
 Fred is perhaps the best built man of the 
 three, trim and clean-limbed, and while not 
 over five feet eight, he takes a longer stride 
 than either of the others. He shows his lack 
 of experience, however, and the pace is telling 
 on him, so that he begins to look a little 
 "blowed" already, but manages to keep within 
 two or three yards of Allison. 
 
 There is not a word spoken in the grand 
 stand, every one is watching the three forms on 
 the other side of the field. At the quarter- 
 post, "Spike" seems to stop short for an in- 
 stant and the Phillips man darts past him. 
 "What the dickens is the matter with 'Spike' ! " 
 ejaculates Bartlett with a blank face, looking 
 at Trevers. "His ankles, I suppose." "Nick" 
 looks bluer than the boys often see him but 
 he has not given up hope yet ; he has seen too 
 many races won in the last ten feet. As 
 "Spike" falls back, Fred quickens his pace 
 and the two keep together for a short distance,
 
 WnOTOTG THE EMBLEM. 133 
 
 Allison constantly gaining on them till he has 
 a clear thirty yards lead. At the 220-tapes, 
 "Spike" calls out, "Catch him, Fred, I can't 
 go another step," and he drops out of the 
 race. Fred pulls himself together and starts 
 out on the fiercest sprint of his life. Only 
 two hundred and twenty yards in which to 
 make up thirty. He sets his teeth, clinches 
 his fists and rushes madly down the stretch. 
 His face seems to grow whiter at every stride, 
 his eyes glaze, but by the sheer force of will 
 he drives himself in the desperate pursuit. 
 As the Phillips man half turns his head five 
 yards from the line, he sees a pale figure with 
 the scarlet emblem glittering on his breast. 
 An instant and it has gained a foot on him, 
 broken the string, and fallen to the ground. 
 
 The great crowd which had risen and 
 watched the final struggle in oppressive 
 silence, burst out into frantic cheers and yells. 
 Professor Nicolls, Hawkeye's gray-haired in- 
 structor in Latin, swinging his hat in one 
 hand and his cane in the other, rushed out of 
 the building to where Fred lay, and helped 
 "Mike" and "Nick" carry him around to the
 
 134 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 dressing-rooms. Here they laid him gently 
 on a rubbing couch and tried to work the 
 aches and soreness out of his knotted and 
 strained muscles. 
 
 "Bless you, old man," said "Spike", limp- 
 ing over to the group around Fred, "but 
 our 'kids' are made of the right stuff. I 
 guess you have earned the 'H' all right, for 
 you lowered the State record just five sec- 
 onds." "Did I, 'Spike'?" and Fred looked 
 up with a happy smile, "then I'm satisfied." 
 And so were the two hundred Hawkeye stu- 
 dents who had watched the boy's plucky run.
 
 "Traggles"' Suit. 
 
 "'T'HERE'S nothing the matter with this 
 1 night," remarked Dick Sleighton to 
 a group of boys gathered at one of the down 
 town candy stores. "Looked as if it were going 
 to rain this afternoon, though, and I didn't 
 make a date. Suppose she isn't at home 
 now, so it would do no good to go up." 
 
 The boys did not seem to need an explana- 
 tion of the term "she," as they asked no ques- 
 tions. A long silence followed. Finally a 
 tall, athletic-looking fellow whispered to Dick, 
 "There are the girls going down town. They 
 look as though there was something up. Let's 
 walk down the street and see." 
 
 Unnoticed by the group whose attention was 
 just then turned to "swiping" peanuts, the 
 two went out and sauntered down the street 
 looking in all the windows. At last they 
 stopped before a jewelry store where they 
 
 (135)
 
 136 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 seemed to be entirely absorbed in discussing 
 some new college pins. 
 
 "Let's pretend not to see them when they 
 come back," suggested Harry Bartlett. 
 
 "All right, here they are," returned Dick. 
 
 The last part of the remark seemed quite 
 uncalled for, as it would have been impossible 
 not to notice the arrival of the girls, who were 
 giggling, of course, and loaded down with 
 innumerable bags and bundles. They evidently 
 had no intention of loitering, for they rushed 
 past with a gait a professional pedestrian 
 might have envied. 
 
 "I guess we'll have to run if we ever catch 
 up with them," Dick remarked. 
 
 "It's too warm to exert ourselves very 
 much. If they're in such a hurry, let's let 
 them go," returned Bartlett, whose pride in 
 the medal he had Avon last field-day in the 
 hundred yard dash forbade him using his skill 
 in frivolous matters. 
 
 "Oh bother, hurry up or they'll be home 
 before we catch them, and it's after seven 
 o'clock now, so there'll be only about half an 
 hour anyway," growled Dick.
 
 "tkaggles'" suit. 137 
 
 A block's run brought them up with the 
 girls. "Ah, good evening. Can't we fellows 
 be useful as well as ornamental by carrying 
 some of your numerous bundles?" 
 
 "Why, yes, thank you, Mr. Sleighton," and 
 Clara Nesbit heaved a sigh of relief as she 
 piled up Dick's outstretched arms. 
 
 "Seems to me you girls always have the 
 most packages ! Why don't you put them all 
 in one big bag? It would be ten times easier 
 to carry." 
 
 "Oh, if they're any trouble " began Clara. 
 
 "Oh, you know I didn't mean that. But 
 what are all these things for, anyway? You 
 people must be going to have a blow-out." 
 
 "Well we were thinking of having a little 
 feast." 
 
 "A little feast! It seems to me there is 
 enough here for forty men." 
 
 "Worse than that, it's for four girls," re- 
 torted Clara. 
 
 They had reached the steps of Mears' Cot- 
 tage and turned to watch the progress of their 
 companions, which was not exceedingly rapid. 
 
 "Oh don't go in yet. It's fifteen minutes
 
 138 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 at least before the bell rings," urged Dick, 
 notwithstanding the fact that he was beneath 
 a load heavy enough to draw a sympathizing 
 tear from the eye of an over-worked dray 
 horse. 
 
 "We must," answered Clara decidedly. 
 "We can get in now without being seen, and 
 if we wait fifteen minutes, we'll be sure to en- 
 counter some one anxiously awaiting our ar- 
 rival. " 
 
 "Well, I suppose we had better go then. 
 But I call it a shame to waste this elegant 
 evening," grumbled Dick. "But say, are 
 there any donations we could make in the 
 way of well, let me see, drinks for in- 
 stance?" 
 
 "Well, perhaps we might be able to use 
 something of the sort. It's awfully good of 
 you to think of it, Dick." 
 
 "What'll you have? Perhaps a little" 
 
 "Ginger ale will do very nicely, thank you." 
 
 "At what time are these midnight revels to 
 be held?" 
 
 "Why, we generally consider twelve o'clock 
 as midnight, in this part of town."
 
 " TRAGGLES' " SUIT. 139 
 
 "Indeeed, you don't mean it!" 
 
 "Well, perhaps I don't, but if you bring up 
 your contribution at that time, Ave will lower 
 the 'elevator. ' Whistle down at the corner, to 
 let us know you're coming. And be sure not 
 to make a noise when you get up here." 
 
 "All right, it's a go, and I guess that's all 
 that is left for us, too." 
 
 "If you intended that for a pun, my opin- 
 ion is, the sooner you go the better." 
 
 "Oh, I beg your pardon. I didn't intend 
 that for a pun but we'll go. Well, then, 
 till 'the iron tongue of midnight doth tell 
 twelve.' So, ladies and gentlemen, thanking 
 you one and all for your kind attention and 
 liberal patronage we shall now close with the 
 last act of 'Exit.' So 'au re voir, but not 
 good-bye.' " 
 
 "Good-bye, many thanks for carrying these 
 small bundles." 
 
 "Don't mention it, the pleasure was all 
 mine." 
 
 "Well, I'm glad you liked it." 
 
 "I certainly did. It isn't a bad thing now
 
 140 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 and then for a fellow to put his athletic train- 
 ing to some good use." 
 
 "That's right. By the way there are several 
 loose boards in this walk " 
 
 "Really I think we had better go. Good 
 night, ladies. You have one and three-quar- 
 ters seconds to get in the house before the bell 
 rings." 
 
 This time the boys were actually off. 
 
 "Pretty nice girl, that Miss Holmes, don't 
 you think so?" asked Bartlett. 
 
 "Oh, I don't know. Why yes, of course I 
 think she's all right," replied Dick, coming 
 out of a reverie. "But didn't it strike 
 you that Clara was provoked about some- 
 thing?" 
 
 "I didn't notice it. She'll get over it if 
 she is," was Jack's ready consolation. "But 
 say, that new suit you have on is pretty 
 smooth." 
 
 "Do you think so? I rather like it myself. 
 But I've got to go down town now. I'll turn 
 into the 'Den' and study after a while if I 
 can't find anything better to do." 
 
 The girls in the meantime had entered the
 
 "traggles'" suit. 141 
 
 house, escaping the ever watchful eye of the 
 matron, and had gone to their room. 
 
 "Where shall I put all these things?" asked 
 Winnifred Holmes. She had been there only 
 a few days on a visit to her cousin, and so 
 had not been thoroughly initiated into all the 
 mysteries of college life. 
 
 "Oh, throw your bundles back of that door. 
 Nobody will ever see them. Be careful or 
 that screen will tumble down again. It 
 ought to go to 'gym' and learn to stand up 
 straight. Oh dear, there's this Greek lesson 
 to get and a 'psych' lesson too. Will you ex- 
 cuse me, my dear, if I proceed to study? I 
 positively must not flunk to-morrow, for I dis- 
 graced myself in every recitation to-day. I 
 piled up a lot of books and magazines on that 
 table for you, if you want to read; and if you 
 prefer to talk to someone, Nell said she would 
 like to have you come in and see her ; she's' Con- 
 servatory' and doesn't have to study at night." 
 
 "Oh, don't bother about me, I'll amuse my- 
 self all right." 
 
 "Mail!" rang out a voice from the upper 
 part of the corridor.
 
 142 ON A WESTEEN CAMPUS. 
 
 "Any for me?" shouted Clara, rushing to 
 the door. 
 
 "A paper is all." 
 
 ''Seems to me that I might get a letter once 
 in a while. Newspapers are so very consol- 
 ing," grumbled Clara. 
 
 "Well, to return to that 'long-suffering 
 divine Odysseus.' Just imagine the trouble 
 we would have been spared, if Paris had only 
 assisted him out of this world before those 
 awful wanderings began." 
 
 "Look at your lamp. It's going out!" 
 
 "Oh, it hasn't been filled to-day. Now we'll 
 have to blow it out and go on the balcony to 
 fill it. You know it's against rules to fill it 
 inside the house after dark." 
 
 After this was done, quiet reigned for a 
 time. Then came a rap on the door, and 
 without waiting for an answer, a girl dashed 
 in, grabbed a book from a shelf, exclaiming 
 as she left the room, "May I borrow your 
 Latin 'die'?" 
 
 "Oh, Win, please put a 'busy' sign on the 
 door or I won't be able to get a lesson to- 
 night," sighed Clara. When the half-past
 
 "traggles' " SUIT. 143 
 
 nine bell rang, she was still studying, but at 
 ten, she threw aside her books, announcing 
 that the last part of her psychology would 
 have to be left until chapel time next morning. 
 
 "Hadn't we better put out the light for a 
 while at least?" suggested Winifred. 
 
 "Oh, no, we'll put a shawl over the tran- 
 som so the light won't shine through." 
 
 "Would you be suspended if they caught 
 us?" 
 
 "I expect so," answered Clara, making a 
 good show of recklessness. 
 
 "Let's not do it then." 
 
 "Oh, I'm not afraid. There's no need of 
 any one's knowing it, if we're only careful. 
 But we must not forget to wake Bess and Lil 
 about half-past eleven. They'll never forgive 
 us if we don't. Suppose we make the fudges 
 now, so they'll have time to cool. We can't 
 pop the corn until everybody is asleep, or 
 they'd smell it. The Welsh rare-bit will have 
 to wait until the girls bring in their chafing- 
 dish." 
 
 "Do you pop the corn on that little oil- 
 stove?"
 
 144 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 "Oh, gracious no. It would take all next 
 week to pop it that way. We always use the 
 lamp to pop corn with. But be quiet, for 
 methinks I hear foot-steps approaching on 
 horseback down the corridor of time." 
 
 The sound of the steps came nearer and 
 then died away in the distance. For the first 
 time complete silence fell on everything. 
 One by one the lights down the hall disap- 
 peared. Soon a mouse starting out on an ex- 
 ploring expedition caused the girls' hearts to 
 beat anxiously. Winnifred was seized with a 
 panic. 
 
 "Oh, I know there is some one in the hall 
 by that door I hear the breathing." 
 
 "Nonsense," said Clara. " ' 'Tis but the 
 wind, or the car rattling o'er the ' " 
 
 "No, I tell you there is some one there. 
 You must not go into the hall to get those 
 girls. Just think how terribly your father 
 and mother would feel if you were suspended. 
 I'm going to lock the door and keep the key. 
 There now, you can't get out of the room." 
 
 "You'll have to stand the consequences 
 then, to-morrow. They will be so mad that
 
 " TKAGGLES' " SUIT. 145 
 
 probably they won't speak to us at all." 
 
 "Oh, I don't care, if only we aren't caught." 
 
 "There's Dick whistling now." 
 
 "Let down the 'elevator,'" came Dick's 
 whisper loud enough to drown ordinary con- 
 versation. 
 
 "Here it is. Be careful and don't talk so 
 loud, Dick, please." 
 
 "All right, now steady." 
 
 The girls pulled it up. Just as they took 
 the bottles out, an idea came to them. 
 
 "Oh, we haven't any corkscrew." 
 
 "Here's one, I'll throw it up." 
 
 "Oh, don't. I'll be afraid to open it any- 
 way, because it pops so. What can we do? 
 We'll have to let them down again and let 
 you open them." 
 
 "Yes, and a lot would be left in the bottle 
 by the time you got it up there again. I'll 
 tell you what I'll climb to the edge of the 
 porch and you can hand a bottle to me." 
 
 "All right. Be careful and don't get on 
 those nails we put up there for the decora- 
 tions, field-day." 
 
 "I'll look out. Here I am, Now, can you
 
 146 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 reach a bottle out the window?" 
 
 "Here it is." 
 
 Dick put the corkscrew in and pulled. 
 
 "Young ladies, what does this mean?" 
 
 The door had opened, and when the shawl 
 hanging from the transom had been pushed 
 aside, the figure of the matron was revealed. 
 There was a report from the window as though 
 a pistol had been fired, a scrambling, a sound 
 of something tearing, the thud of a heavy 
 body falling on the ground. 
 
 "Winnifred began to weep. Clara was ir- 
 resolute, whether to face the battle with the 
 matron, or rush to the window to see if Dick 
 were hurt. At last, being reassured by the 
 sound of life below, she turned to greet the 
 enemy. 
 
 "There is no need of saying anything, Miss 
 Nesbit. I think I understand the situation 
 perfectly. You will immediately close your 
 window, and put out your light, and in the 
 morning I should like to see you. Next time 
 I would advise you to be sure the door is 
 locked," and turning, Miss Dorcas left the 
 room.
 
 "traggles'" suit. 147 
 
 "You didn't turn the lock all the way!" ex- 
 claimed Clara. "Oh Winnifred, do you 
 think Dick is hurt badly?" 
 
 A week later Dick was going to the post- 
 office with one of the boys, when suddenly his 
 friend asked: 
 
 "Say, old fellow, are you and Miss Nesbit 
 going to play quits? You haven't been up 
 there for a whole week." 
 
 "Oh, I don't know. Been studying pretty 
 hard for a while. Haven't had much time to 
 fool away." 
 
 "I didn't know you called that fooling away 
 your time. But here comes * Traggles'," 
 went on Bartlett. The individual in question 
 was a simple old colored man, a great favorite 
 with the boys, upon whom they bestowed 
 many of their cast-off garments, besides a 
 great deal of attention. 
 
 "He's got a new coat, too. My, but it's 
 swell for the old fellow. Nearly comes up to 
 your new suit, Dick, and I bet the next cent 
 I get, that the material is almost like yours.
 
 148 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 Let's stop him and find out where he got so 
 much 'swelldom'." 
 
 The old man came up. He looked odd 
 enough in a light spring coat of the latest 
 cut. The only peculiar thing about the coat 
 was a three-cornered tear on one of the 
 sleeves, and some dark spots scattered over it 
 quite generally. 
 
 "Oh, I'm in a terrible hurry. I can't 
 stop," exclaimed Dick, suddenly awakening 
 to the fact. 
 
 "Come to think about it, Dick, why don't 
 you wear your new suit? I haven't seen it 
 since the first time you wore it." 
 
 "I dunno, but when I came to examine it 
 by daylight, I found the color was hideous, 
 and besides it didn't fit at all," answered 
 Dick, looking thoughtfully at the clouds 
 reddened by the setting sun.
 
 Coach "Chubby". 
 
 BARRINGTON UNIVERSITY and Hawk- 
 eye College were fighting out to an un- 
 certain finish their annual contest on the 
 gridironed field. 
 
 The excitement was of a sort engendered 
 by a rivalry dating back to the memorable 
 year when "Dad" Bryon, Princeton's famous 
 end of 188 , introduced the first Hawkeye 
 eleven to foot-ball and incidentally to the 
 players of Barrington University. Although 
 acting the part of host on that occasion, 
 Bryon's proteges sent their friendly antago- 
 nists home with nothing to their credit beyond 
 consoling thoughts of what might have been. 
 The Hawkeye players had amassed twenty-four 
 points, to be recorded as the score of their 
 first foot-ball victory. 
 
 Year after year had worn away, and the 
 meeting of the Barrington and Hawkeye teams 
 had developed into an event of paramount 
 
 (149)
 
 150 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 athletic interest to the two schools thus repre- 
 sented. Then it was that old "grads" sought 
 to reassemble ; to slap each other on the back 
 and recall past days; dilating on the degen- 
 eracy of the present, notably from the sports- 
 man's point of view. On this particular occa- 
 sion they were much in evidence. There were 
 Tom Hurley and "Fussy" Williams, ex-cap- 
 tains of Barrington and Hawkeye respectively, 
 squabbling over the game with the same ardor 
 displayed a few years before when they were 
 pitted against each other in gubernatorial 
 capacity. The lively conversation between 
 these two veterans was a feature that at- 
 tracted no little attention in their immediate 
 vicinity. A prominent figure in the crush of 
 spectators was a tall, gray-bearded old gentle- 
 man. It was soon whispered about that he 
 was one of the Hawkeye trustees, who had come 
 a hundred miles to see what the game was 
 like, in order to determine whether he really 
 approved of it. lie had preconceived notions 
 of a brutal warfare in which broken noses 
 and twisted limbs were painfully frequent. 
 To the younger generation, the reminis-
 
 COACH "chubby". 151 
 
 cent remarks overheard here and there, sug- 
 gested pleasantly the wreath of tradition that 
 was beginning to crown their cherished field, 
 the scene of many a well-earned victory. 
 
 The game was drawing to a close. The be- 
 sweatered "subs" along the lines were fol- 
 lowing with closest scrutiny every move that 
 changed the position of the ball, and emitting 
 laconic grunts of approval or censure, as the 
 play pleased or disappointed them. No 
 longer did the Hawkeye mascot proudly wag 
 his ribboned tail before an admiring assem- 
 blage, but true to his canine instinct, he was 
 pursuing the sprightly chipmunk, leaving the 
 outcome of the game in the hands of the 
 Fates, and twenty-two stalwart young giants. 
 The gruff little linesman who kept the 
 time had grudgingly volunteered the informa- 
 tion that nine minutes were left to play. As 
 yet no score had requited the lively encour- 
 agement from the rival factions. As the re- 
 maining time became steadily less, the excite- 
 ment increased proportionately. 
 
 Two precious minutes had slipped by, dur- 
 ing which the ball changed hands a few times
 
 152 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 with little result. Then came a grand op- 
 portunity for an attempt to kick a goal from 
 the field. Hawkeye shoved the ball to the 
 'Varsity's fifteen-yard line, but not the most 
 desperate efforts of King, Hawkeye 's dashing 
 half-back, could pass that point. Twice they 
 had advanced very near to the last white- 
 washed line, that meant victory, and twice 
 had four downs caused a groan of disappoint- 
 ment from the Hawkeye contingent, which 
 was pressing heavily, with fevered agitation 
 against the ropes on the west side of the 
 grounds. A confident and lusty cheer arose 
 opposite them where the Barrington follow- 
 ing, scarcely so numerous, yet equally vocif- 
 erous, had taken up its position. 
 
 "Is Jack dead crazy?" was the surprising 
 interrogation to which "Chubby" Grant gave 
 utterance. "Chubby" was a tousled and 
 dumpy specimen of humanity, attired in a 
 unique athletic garb, half foot-ball, semi- 
 base-ball in make-up. This was the boy's 
 first year at Hawkeye. No one could state 
 positively where his home was. Undeniable, 
 however, were the facts of his classification as
 
 ' Is -Jack dead crazy V " 
 
 Page 152.
 
 COACH "chubby". 153 
 
 a Prep and his invariable attendance at 
 the daily practice. One afternoon he had 
 been nearly beside himself with joy when the 
 captain had allowed him to play a couple of 
 minutes on the scrub, while Jones was lacing 
 up his jacket. The boys admired his plucky 
 spirit, and he was always granted the privilege 
 of holding their sweaters. With an import- 
 ant, business-like air, he would help in 
 stretching them on after the first half, and in 
 stripping them off after the fray recom- 
 menced. 
 
 By virtue of his official prerogative, 
 "Chubby" could view the game inside the 
 ropes, which were creaking from the spas- 
 modic pushes of the mass of eager spectators. 
 He watched keenly every move out on the 
 field and noting the mistake in not trying for a 
 goal, he had blurted out his, as yet, unanswered 
 question. 
 
 "Sit down, my lad, sit down! How d'ye ex- 
 pect one to see the game, with you standing 
 in the way?" 
 
 It was the gray-bearded trustee. In his 
 mind the problem was solved and he was a
 
 154 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 strong convert to foot-ball. About twenty 
 minutes before, he had left his seat in the 
 stand, and was elbowing his way excitedly 
 through one of the densest yelling-squads, that 
 he might come closer to the scene of action. 
 He was as enthusiastic as a Freshman, and as 
 exacting. "Chubby" minded him not; the 
 trustee was not "in it" just then. It was a 
 critical time. Thompson, the big center, was 
 just about to snap the ball to the Hawkeye 
 quarter on Barrington's fifteen-yard line. A 
 slight lull ensued, so that a single voice was 
 audible at some distance. 
 
 The players are near at hand and their heavy 
 breathing is painfully distinct. The Hawk- 
 eye right tackle stops the game full forty 
 seconds to regulate a refractory shin-guard. 
 
 "Take out that time there, you lines- 
 man," shout several imperious voices. One 
 of the "subs" avails himself of the oppor- 
 tunity, to tighten the bandage on the little 
 half-back's head. All is ready again. The 
 lines crouch into position and play is resumed 
 after a tantalizing delay. The signal com- 
 mences but is interrupted by a determined
 
 COACH "chubby". 155 
 
 protest from the side. "Why in thunder don't 
 you let 'Buck' kick a goal from the field?" 
 
 The captain glanced sternly in the direction 
 of the sound, relaxing his severity somewhat 
 as he perceived it was only "Chubby." Then 
 followed the signal for a line plunge. 
 
 The umpire, however, continually on the 
 alert, thought he detected some side-line 
 coaching, and shaking a warning finger at the 
 sturdy little "sub", threatened to have him 
 put off the field. 
 
 With this play, Hawk eye's second opportunity 
 had slipped by. The ball was now in Bar- 
 rington's possession ready for an advance out 
 of danger, while a stirring shout of relief 
 volleyed forth from the University element. 
 
 Captain Lyman compressed his lips a little 
 more firmly and implored the men with "Smash 
 'em ! Tear up that interference, Armstrong ! 
 Play your game, Cub! Now ." All his en- 
 treaties could not prevent a steady retrogres- 
 sion centerwards, and a consequent feeling of 
 discouragement took possession of the anxious 
 wearers of the scarlet and black. The purple 
 of Barrington flaunted madly from cane and
 
 156 ON" A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 parasol, for their champions seemed at last to 
 have struck a winning gait. 
 
 Several stop-watches have registered two 
 minutes left to play. Just now a mighty roar 
 shakes the atmosphere. "Hawk eye's ball!" 
 is the hoarse shout passed down the lines. 
 Pandemonium has broken loose. Only 
 twenty-five yards ; then, victory ! Can they 
 struggle across that intervening strip? 
 
 On the first down, King, the fleet half, 
 is started around the end. Smoothly the in- 
 terference precedes the runner in perfect for- 
 mation. Surely they will gain this time. Not 
 so thinks the University right end and he 
 hurls every ounce of his scant hundred and 
 forty pounds into the oncoming rush. Down 
 they go, one, two, three, and quick as a flash 
 the tackle is through the opening and brings 
 the half to earth with more force than grace. 
 "Second down and six yards to gain," shouts 
 the referee. 
 
 Once more a line play is tried. Where a 
 clean hole should have been, the stocky guard 
 of the University was ready to embrace the 
 nimble runner, which he accomplished so hand-
 
 COACH "chubby". 157 
 
 ily as to cause a loss of two feet of stubbornly 
 contested sod. Again a crisis has come, and 
 the grounds are as quiet as a churchyard. 
 
 Some one was seen to run out a few yards on 
 the field. Waving his arms as well as two 
 extra sweaters and a red blanket permitted, he 
 roared: "Lyman, you've got to win the game! 
 Try that goal and you can do it easy!" 
 
 It was the irrepressible "sub" once more, and 
 this time he paid for his temerity by being 
 courteously, yet firmly, escorted outside the 
 ropes and beyond the fence, at the umpire's 
 request, while the crowd looked on and 
 laughed. The remedy was rather more heroic 
 than Mr. Spalding's rule-book warrants, but 
 the offense was of extreme gravity ; at least, so 
 reasoned the umpire. However, "Chubby's" 
 mission was accomplished. "8-12-6-7-28," 
 gasped Captain Lyman, and "Buck" Miller ran 
 backwards five yards, eagerly awaiting the 
 pass. Then came the "gamiest" fight of the 
 day. Nobly did the Barrington forwards 
 struggle to get through and block that kick. 
 Their right half-back, the mighty Harrison, 
 leaped recklessly over the line, in hope of reach-
 
 158 ON A WESTEKN CAMPUS. 
 
 ing the full-back in time ; but the Hawkeye 
 quarter was on his mettle and catching his 
 opponent in the air, threw him heavily. Each 
 man did his best. So effective was the defence 
 that "Buck" was undisturbed. From out 
 that mass of tugging, steaming humanity, the 
 leathern spheroid shot serenely forth, and 
 speeding on its way fell directly above the 
 cross-bar of the goal and five points were 
 scored to the credit of Hawkeye. 
 
 It was all over, save the maddened delight 
 of five hundred college students whose defend- 
 ers had won a tremendous victory. The 
 people swarmed out on the field in good-na- 
 tured confusion. The reverend trustee forgot 
 his dignity, and, in amiable frame of mind, pat- 
 ted the players on the back and congratulated 
 them for their success, in true undergraduate 
 fashion. The game had been too close for 
 enjoyment, and now that it was really saved, 
 joy passed all restraint. 
 
 Not a man of the eleven walked from the 
 field that day. The earth seemed far too base 
 for such heroes to tread. 
 
 Shoulders there were in plenty to furnish
 
 COACH "chubby". 159 
 
 cushions for the athletes' quivering, aching 
 muscles. 
 
 The more modest tried to elude this en- 
 forced march of triumph, but the happy mob 
 soon spied each man and hoisted him, resisting, 
 to a higher "coign of vantage". The captain 
 had disappeared almost as quickly as the Bar- 
 rington delegation. On all sides loud calls of 
 "Lyman, Lyman, we want Lyman!" re- 
 sounded. Then the crowd began to converge 
 at the gates. A Barrington straggler would 
 come along occasionally, and was at once 
 singled out for general mild abuse. 
 
 The gay procession of enthroned athletes 
 was pushing its way out. As the gate was 
 reached, Lyman greeted his comrades, carry- 
 ing on his brawny shoulders the chunky little 
 "sub" who had virtually won the day. 
 
 "We head this march, don't we, 'Chubby'?" 
 "Chubby" gave an affirmative grunt, and 
 then, as a realization came home to every one 
 that the game had really been saved by that 
 last brilliant play, which the little fellow had 
 forfeited his own pleasure to bring to pass, 
 cheers for the gallant "Chub" well nigh
 
 160 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 overcame that worthy, and he squirmed in 
 vain to escape what he considered indecorous 
 popularity. 
 
 Five years later, "Chubby" was captain of 
 that Hawkeye eleven which never met de- 
 feat. The dearest relic in ex-Oaptain 
 Grant's room is an old foot-ball, suspended 
 amongst his photographs over the mantel- 
 piece and bearing on its surface the 
 roughly painted, mystical characters, 5-0.
 
 IV. 
 
 IN SERIOUS VEIN.
 
 Back in the Sixties. 
 
 THE large south-east room of the Old Hall 
 was in more confusion than usual this 
 morning. Good Mrs. Bonebright had come to 
 "straighten up a bit," but had been ordered 
 out, "until later, Mrs. Bonebright;" and she 
 had departed wondering. 
 
 The early morning sun looked in the east 
 windows on an unusual spectacle. This was 
 unquestionably the best room of the house in 
 which to loaf, and it was seldom used for any 
 other purpose. The window-seat was wide, 
 and adorned with a few substantial cushions, 
 presents from girl friends, or "swiped," when 
 making calls. And one of the surprising things 
 was, that this morning there was no one loung- 
 ing there. The book-shelves were filled with 
 good, substantial, clean-looking text-books, ex- 
 cept one shelf where the volumes of Field, 
 Stevenson, college yarns and novels were 
 well worn. But the sign, "Bare volumes sel- 
 
 (163)
 
 164: OK A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 dom if ever handled," which belonged over the 
 shelves, lay with several others of the same 
 kind in the ashes of the fire-place. 
 
 The table, for once, seemed to be a study 
 table; books and papers were piled so high 
 that a young man seated at the farther end 
 was scarcely visible. He was busy glancing 
 over a pile of papers, taking up one and at the 
 same time throwing down another, running his 
 hands through his curly black hair and grum- 
 bling something in an undertone about this 
 "confounded grind," while his dark blue eyes 
 wore a troubled expression. He was evidently 
 intent upon what he was doing, although not 
 with an air of thoroughly enjoying his present 
 situation. 
 
 Yes, this was Jack Harrington. He had 
 just opened Bryce's "American Common- 
 wealth," and was taking notes, when a loud 
 knock was heard at the door, and not waiting 
 for a response, Ned Burton rushed into the 
 room, saying as he met Jack's angry glance: 
 
 "What, not going to Chapel, old man?" 
 
 "No, hang it, not going anywhere," replied 
 Jack, in a manner not inviting further counsel.
 
 BACK IN THE SIXTIES. 165 
 
 "Well, I'll be dubbed, what in thunder ails 
 you? No suicidal intentions, I hope ; looks as 
 if you might be making out your will," said 
 Ned, picking up one of the numerous papers 
 scattered over the table. 
 
 "If you had half an eye, I should think you 
 could see. This blamed paper for political 
 science was due a month ago, and Hicks has 
 jerked me up regularly after every recitation, 
 and said if I did not have it to-morrow 
 he'd " 
 
 "0 the deuce, Jack, if that's all that ails 
 you, come along, old man. This is Decoration 
 Day, and Prof. Mitchell always makes his cus- 
 tomary address, and really, you want to see 
 how the girls have decorated the slabs contain- 
 ing the names of our heroic dead. There goes 
 the last bell. Come along, Jack ; let old Hicks 
 wait another day. He needs to cultivate 
 patience," said Ned, as he turned towards the 
 door. 
 
 Jack muttered something to the effect that 
 he wished to be left alone, and Ned hurried 
 down the stairs, wondering what had come 
 over his chum.
 
 166 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 "I never knew anything to trouble that fel- 
 low before, much less a 'pol sci' paper, but 
 stranger things have happened," said Ned to 
 himself, as he entered the Chapel. 
 
 Ned might better have understood Jack's 
 unusual manner, had he known that, while at 
 breakfast that morning, Jack had received a 
 telegram from his father, to the effect that he 
 was on his way home from Denver and would 
 spend the night with him. 
 
 Now Jack was one of those jolly good fel- 
 lows, whom all the boys liked and who thought 
 it far better to get "D" in his work and be 
 "in the push," as he called it, than to bother 
 over Weber's Law, much less Horace. He 
 would leave that nonsense to the girls. 
 
 But the arrival of the telegram had, for a 
 time, put all these notions out of his head. 
 Jack's father was a graduate of Hawkeye in 
 '67, and felt a deep interest in the work of 
 his son. So Jack was now straining every 
 nerve to be able to give his paper before the 
 class on the following day, and convince his 
 father of the genuine hard work he was doing, 
 while at the same time he might be more sure
 
 BACK IN THE SIXTIES. 167 
 
 of the "fifty" he wanted at once. So the 
 morning wore away and afternoon passed into 
 evening. Jack was just hurrying down the 
 steps of the Old Hall, when he was hailed by, 
 "Well, old boy, where now? Are you really 
 awake to the fact that there is a world outside 
 that den of yours? To the '6:40'?" as Jack 
 turned in the direction of the station . ' ' What 's 
 up now Mamma coming?" 
 
 "No," said Jack, "Father is on his way 
 home from Denver and telegraphed he would 
 spend the night with me." 
 
 "Well, you needn't have wasted your time 
 trying to bluff me about that 'pol sci' article. 
 It didn't go down a little bit, but really, old 
 man, it's a wonder to me you have com- 
 mon sense enough left after a day of real 
 hard work to know where you are at," said 
 Ned. 
 
 "See here, old fellow," said Jack, turning 
 quickly upon him, "let me give you a pointer. 
 You're not to mention this day's work, and, 
 in fact, my work is not to be mentioned in his 
 presence, as you value your life, old man, not 
 a syllable."
 
 168 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 "I always thought I was a friend of yours 
 but how long will he stay?" 
 
 "Goes on to-morrow night's limited to 
 Davenport," said Jack. 
 
 This short conversation was interrupted by 
 the whistle of the approaching train, just as 
 the boys reached the depot platform. A 
 minute later Jack was doing all the honors of 
 an obedient son. "Father, let me introduce 
 my friend, Mr. Burton." 
 
 "Mr. Harrington, I'm glad to meet you," 
 said Ned, offering his hand. 
 
 Mr. Harrington looked steadily into his face 
 for a moment, and then said, in a voice show- 
 ing not a little interest: "Can it be possible 
 that you're the son of John Burton, '67?" 
 
 "I have the honor, I believe." 
 
 "Well! well! John was one of my very best 
 friends during the sixties, and friends were 
 friends in those days, the darkest days this 
 country has ever known. Life at old Hawk- 
 eye was very different then, from what it is 
 now, I imagine." By this time they had 
 reached the street leading to Ned's board- 
 irg-hall, and after a few words at the corner
 
 BACK IN THE SIXTIES. 169 
 
 Ned, with a tip of his cap and a "good-bye," 
 was gone. 
 
 "Come over to the room after supper, Ned 
 and father will tell us some more about the 
 life of old Hawkeye in his days." 
 
 "It's a go," called back Ned. 
 
 "That's the queerest specimen of humanity 
 in this college," said Jack, as he and his father 
 turned down High Street, "forever harping 
 on war. He'd be just in his element if he 
 could marshal the company out on dress 
 parade, but he'd be the one to leave at the 
 first smell of powder, you can bet on that." 
 
 "You can't always tell, Jack. There's 
 nothing like war to bring out what's in a man. 
 His father was one of the best and bravest sol- 
 diers I ever knew always ready and at his 
 post for duty." 
 
 Mr. Harrington seemed for the while to be 
 living over again the scenes of thirty years ago 
 and did not notice that they were already near- 
 ing the Old Hall. 
 
 The south-east room at eight o'clock con- 
 trasted greatly with the same room as we saw 
 it in the morning. The table was neat, with
 
 170 ON A WESTERN" CAMPUS. 
 
 just the right number of books lying carelessly 
 on one side to give the impression of student 
 life. Although it was the thirtieth of May, a 
 bright fire burned in the grate the unseemly 
 signs were gone, and the college pictures on 
 the mantel and in the tennis net were dusted 
 and neatly arranged. 
 
 Jack was pleased with Mrs. Bonebright's 
 work. 
 
 Mr. Harrington was examining the foot-ball 
 which hung above the couch in one corner, 
 and listening to Jack's story of the victory in 
 which it figured, when the usual crowd of 
 boys dropped in, holding an animated discus- 
 sion over the morning's chapel talk. They 
 were somewhat surprised and silenced as they 
 in turn made the acquaintance of Jack's 
 father. But this lasted only a moment, for 
 they had loafed in comfort so often in the old 
 south room that they could have faced a 
 faculty meeting there with composure. 
 
 "Sit down, fellows, anywhere; make your- 
 selves comfortable," said Jack. 
 
 "Well, this is solid comfort," said Dick 
 Sleighton, as he threw himself on the rug in
 
 BACK IN THE SIXTIES. 171 
 
 front of the open fire. "But where's Ned? 
 This must be his 'psych' evening." 
 
 "Did you ever know him to stay away for 
 that?" remarked Downley, otherwise known 
 as "Duke," seating himself in a comfortable 
 chair. Just at this moment the door opened, 
 and in walked Ned, somewhat out of breath. 
 
 "Hello, fellows. Good evening, Mr. Har- 
 rington," said Ned, as he threw off his light 
 overcoat and stepped toward the fire. "Mr. 
 Harrington, you're going to tell us something 
 of old Hawkeye in the early sixties ; the boys 
 want to hear it, too don't you boys?" 
 
 "Ned's everlasting theme again," whispered 
 Dick to his next neighbor. "I wish to good- 
 ness we could give that idiot a taste of blood- 
 shed." 
 
 Mr. Harrington crossed the room and took 
 the chair which Jack had placed for him in 
 front of the fireplace. He looked with kindly 
 interest into the faces of the boys gathered 
 about him. "Well, my young friends," he 
 began, "this is such a contrast to the early 
 sixties that I can hardly believe it is the same 
 old Hawkeye. The little college had been ded-
 
 172 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 icated but a short time before, and it stood al- 
 most alone on the prairie. It seems wonderful 
 what development has been made in the last 
 thirty years." 
 
 "Your father, Mr. Burton, and I used to 
 room in a small white house some distance 
 east of the college building. We had one lit- 
 tle room not much bigger than a dry goods 
 box. It was very different from this, 1 can 
 assure you. It had a bed and a stove in it, 
 and we had to measure our movements care- 
 fully before we made them. Burton was al- 
 ways threatening to pick the stove up and set 
 it out in the hall. When he enlisted, he said: 
 'Well, that stove won't trouble me for a 
 while. ' He always liked to joke and we used 
 to have some great times. I missed him more 
 than any of the other fellows, I think, for we 
 were constantly together. He was the leading 
 spirit among all the boys. We knew, too, just 
 what a struggle he had undergone when he 
 made up his mind to enlist. Why, that fellow 
 walked four days and swam two streams in 
 order to come here. He knew how to appre- 
 ciate what he was getting. But he had a high
 
 BACK IN THE SIXTIES. 173 
 
 sense of duty, and when he made up his mind 
 as to what was right, nothing could stop him. 
 He enlisted on the second of December and 
 was sent straight to the front. The boys used 
 to come up to the room almost every evening 
 to know if I had heard any news from Burton. 
 After the battle of Philippi he was made cap- 
 tain of his company. From that time on, I 
 heard no word from him for weeks. College 
 life was unbroken in its routine of study, ex- 
 cept when news came from the front. Then 
 we used to go into the small, narrow recitation 
 rooms of the one college building, day after 
 day, with no thought of what we should have 
 prepared, but wholly absorbed in the news- 
 paper reports of the last engagement." 
 
 "Didn't you get 'E's'?" interrupted Jack. 
 
 "War isn't essential for that condition of 
 affairs, at least not now," said Dick in an un- 
 dertone. 
 
 "Oh, the faculty forgave us much in those 
 days ; they were as interested as we were. The 
 question uppermost in the hearts of many of 
 us was whether to enlist or not. Soon after 
 the beginning of the new year, Davis and Saw-
 
 174 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 yer, both Juniors, decided to go. Poor Davis ! 
 He had a drooping lid and tried three times 
 before he was mustered in. The last time, 
 bound to go, in some unaccountable way he 
 turned his head from the examiner so that his 
 eye escaped detection. But his career was 
 short. He was killed at Fort Donelson. 
 Just as the news of his death reached us, ten 
 of us boys were on the point of enlisting, and 
 instead of weakening our resolve, it only made 
 us more determined to cast aside our Homers 
 for the sterner discipline of Hardy's tactics. 
 It's no use trying to tell you boys how hard it 
 was for us to go and leave those who for many 
 reasons could not. Our little college was al- 
 most broken up, so small was the number left. 
 "We were mustered in down on the river 
 at Davenport, and were placed in a com- 
 pany about to be sent south. Just before leav- 
 ing, I received a letter from Burton. He 
 was in Tennessee, and the anticipation of 
 possibly seeing him, compensated in part for 
 the hardships we had to undergo. For, after 
 a painful experience of marching through 
 mud and water, cold and snow, with some-
 
 BACK IN THE SIXTIES. 175 
 
 times not even hard-tack and coffee, we didn't 
 see the pleasure of war in exactly the same 
 light as we had a few months previous. 
 
 "One of our boys, Joe Smith, created a good 
 deal of fun for the company. When we 
 were being mustered in, Joe laughingly gave as 
 his reason for enlisting, that he wished to see 
 the sights. So when even hard-tack was lack- 
 ing, and there was no place to sleep, save the 
 frozen ground with not even a blanket, we 
 would comfort Joe by telling him he was 'see- 
 ing the sights. ' Just before the battle of Shi- 
 loh, we were encamped several miles from the 
 city, when the order came to be ready to move 
 at any moment. We had been marching all 
 these weeks and now, for the first time, there 
 was a chance to go to the front. 
 
 "Poor Joe! When he heard the orders, a 
 deathly pallor came over his face and he said, 
 'I can't go, Captain, I'm sick.' Captain 
 Jones drew himself up to his full height and 
 said: 'You've heard my orders, Mr. Smith.' 
 'But Captain, I'm sick.' 'You'll march with 
 your company, sir!' I never saw a fellow so 
 frightened. We guyed him a bit, and told
 
 176 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 him he'd probably see some more 'sights,' and 
 there was nothing for him to do but go. The 
 orders came and, half an hour later, we ar- 
 rived on the field of battle and were ordered 
 to storm a hill which the Confederates were 
 holding. It was a terrible position, but we 
 marched across the open field, directly in range 
 of the enemy's cannon, men falling on all 
 sides; just as we were climbing the last ram- 
 part, poor Joe was all but over, when the eye 
 of an escaping 'Johnnie' saw him. He fired, 
 and Joe fell. During the terrible night that 
 followed, Joe's face was missed, and when 'Doc' 
 Wilmot called the roll in the morning, there 
 was no 'here' in answer to his name. We felt 
 sure he had not deserted. He never would 
 have done that, in spite of his fear, and be- 
 sides, he was with us when we made the turn. 
 We knew he was killed, and some of us 
 wanted to go in search of the body, that we 
 might take word of his last resting place to his 
 mother, if we should get through alive. But 
 our orders were to move forward. With heavy 
 hearts we took up our line of march, having 
 sent word back to Herndon that we had left
 
 BACK IN THE SIXTIES. 177 
 
 Joe's poor body on the field of Shiloh. That 
 was to me one of the hardest things of the 
 whole war, to leave a friend dead on the field. 
 
 "A long time afterwards, one afternoon 
 while encamped with Grant's army before 
 Vicksburg, we had the good fortune to run 
 across Burton. I tell you it was like meet- 
 ing one's own brother. We received that 
 day fresh letters from the North. What 
 comfort and cheer they brought to us! 
 Letters from college, containing longed-for 
 news from old Hawkeye. Every word was 
 more welcome than a good beefsteak would 
 have been, and that's saying a good deal, 
 for we were then on pretty short rations. Bur- 
 ton being with us that night, we all sat around 
 the camp-fire and talked of our college days. 
 We talked over all the boys who had enlisted, 
 and we could recall but two who were dead 
 Davis and Joe. At the mention of Joe's 
 death, Burton jumped up, exclaiming: 
 
 'Joe! Why, boys, he's in Libby Prison; 
 was taken there along with many other pris- 
 oners after the battle of Shiloh. I saw a record, 
 of it in a Richmond paper, '
 
 178 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 "We could not believe it till Burton had gone 
 to his tent and produced the paper. Yes, Joe 
 was alive, but that was all. Libby was next 
 thing to death. I confess I always thought 
 that, between being taken there as prisoner 
 and being shot, I should prefer the latter. 
 Well, after this excitement had somewhat 
 cooled down, we talked over every! hing that 
 had taken place before or since we left college, 
 for Burton must know everything. At last he 
 proposed that we should sing to old Hawkeye, 
 and we sang college songs till Clemens and I 
 were ordered out on picket duty. The night 
 was still and cold, with a bright moon. Every 
 sound could be distinctly heard. Along 
 about two in the morning I heard Clemens call 
 out, 'Who goes there?' I was by his side in a 
 moment and we leveled our guns as we saw a 
 figure step out from the shadows of the trees. 
 There was a man, gaunt and worn, with 
 scarcely any clothing. He almost staggered 
 forward, and, raising his hands as a sign of 
 surrender, said: 'Don't fire, boys, for the sake 
 of old Hawkeye, don't!' In spite of his dread- 
 ful appearance, at the sound of that word, it
 
 BACK IN" THE SIXTIES. 179 
 
 flashed over me that that might be Joe; 
 thoughtlessly, I dropped my gun and ran 
 forward, just in time to catch him as he fell 
 from sheer exhaustion. It was Joe. He had 
 indeed escaped in some mysterious way and 
 had made perilous search for his old comrades, 
 finally succeeding in reaching Grant's forces. 
 The dying notes of our college songs had guid- 
 ed him straight to our picket line." 
 
 Mr. Harrington sat for a few moments silent, 
 looking into the fire. The boys said nothing. 
 Then he looked around with a smile and 
 added, "So you see after all, Joe had more ex- 
 perience and saw more 'sights' than the rest 
 of us."
 
 For the Scarlet and Black. 
 
 GEORGE LAWRENCE sat alone in his 
 room studying. It was a miserably rainy 
 night, and he thanked his lucky stars half a 
 dozen times that the senior girl whom he was 
 to have escorted to the Alpha Nu reception 
 had been suddenly called home to attend the 
 wedding of a relative. He was sick and tired 
 of receptions, anyway, and as for the girls 
 well, of course there was one away off in a little 
 Ohio village who received regularly a square 
 envelope, addressed in a very masculine hand, 
 and having the Herndon postmark distinctly 
 visible in the upper right-hand corner but for 
 girls in general he didn't care a snap of his 
 finger, and to-night he smiled complacently to 
 himself every few minutes as he heard the old 
 town hacks splashing through the mud in the 
 direction of College Hill. 
 
 He was studying, though he hardly knew 
 why, for Friday nights were usually occupied 
 
 (181)
 
 182 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 in having "times" with the boys and all prep- 
 aration for Monday's recitations was squeezed 
 into a couple of hours on Saturday. But to- 
 night all the others in the hall had deserted 
 their rooms, and he realized that it was a gold- 
 en opportunity to brush up a little on psychol- 
 ogy, lie dug away for about half an hour. 
 Herbart's theories were troublesome, to say 
 the least, and he found that he was nodding 
 in spite of himself, when a resounding whack 
 on the door caused him to jump up with a 
 start. 
 
 "Come in," he called, throwing Herbart 
 into the nearest corner. The door opened with 
 a bang and in burst Ned Albright, closely fol- 
 lowed by a man some dozen years his senior, 
 whose build and proportions at once suggested 
 the athlete, while his dress and manner as 
 clearly distinguished him as a business man. 
 
 "Hello, old man! Not studying, are you?" 
 
 "Hello, Ned! "Well, not so you'd notice it. 
 Just pounding away a little on this old 
 'psych'," replied George, glancing in the direc- 
 tion of the stranger. 
 
 "Sorry for you from the top of my head up-
 
 FOR THE SCARLET AND BLACK. 183 
 
 wards," went on the rollicking Ned. "0, 
 Lawrence, my friend, Mr. Stanley. Stanley is 
 an old chum of my brother's. They were 
 class-mates, you know. Graduated along 
 about '87. Friend of the family too, you 
 know. Just going through the burg on his 
 way south and stopped off to see me for an 
 hour or so. He used to inhabit this den of 
 yours in the old days and wanted to run up 
 and see how things looked." 
 
 "Glad to meet you, Mr. Stanley. Shake to 
 the honor of the old room," and Lawrence 
 extended his hand in such genuine comrade- 
 ship, that the visitor felt at home at once. 
 
 "It ; s the same old place," he said, glancing 
 about the room. "Put the study table in that 
 corner, the cane rack in this, and half a dozen 
 more photos on the mantel, and I wouldn't 
 believe that ten years had passed since I last 
 crammed Greek in that old study chair. 0, 
 those were great old times," he continued. 
 "I would give five years out of my business 
 experience just to have my senior year back 
 again." 
 
 "Well, you were a big man in your day, and
 
 184 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 you know that makes all the difference in the 
 world," said Ned, who had been six months a 
 Senior and took no small amount of pride in 
 the fact. "Yes, I rather like being a Senior 
 myself." 
 
 "Don't doubt it a bit," put in George, "but 
 get a move on yourself and shove that chair in 
 front of the fire-place while I undermine this 
 pyramid of gent's furnishing goods. If we 
 keep your friend standing in the corner much 
 longer, I wouldn't give my last year's tennis 
 racket for what he thinks of our hospitality." 
 
 "Why, man, you're getting most awfully 
 fastidious all of a sudden. Usually any old 
 thing is good enough to sit on in this 
 vicinity." 
 
 "0, don't trouble yourself, Mr. Lawrence; 
 it won't be the first time I have stood up in 
 this room for want of a place to sit down," 
 and Stanley continued contemplating the pic- 
 ture over the mantel-piece. 
 
 Lawrence, however, soon restored things to 
 order by piling everything into a great heap 
 on the bed. Then he wheeled a couple of chairs 
 in front of the fire which Ned had set to blazing
 
 FOE THE SCARLET AND BLACK. 185 
 
 by throwing among the embers a couple of 
 copies of Scarlet and Black. 
 
 "Is that a picture of your '97 Glee Club ? " 
 asked Stanley, after they had made themselves 
 comfortable. 
 
 "Which one?" inquired Ned. "George is 
 such a Glee Club fiend he has tacked up all 
 the Glee Club pictures since he was a Prep." 
 "The one in the middle with the ribbon 
 around it," and Stanley designated the one in 
 question with a vigorous flourish of his cane. 
 
 "Yes," answered Lawrence, "that's the 
 latest. And it's an all right crowd, if I do say 
 it myself. We are off for our annual tour 
 week after next, you know, and we expect to 
 take things by storm. We haven't put in six 
 months of hard work for nothing." 
 
 "Good for the Glee Club! I see the old- 
 time spirit still lives but who is the little fel- 
 low in the left-hand corner, with the large 
 eyes and curly hair?" 
 
 "0, that's Brooks Jim Brooks, or Jimmy, 
 as we call him. A Freshman this year and a 
 capital fellow, if he does look like a girl. 
 And such a voice too high and bird-like for
 
 186 ON" A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 a tenor, but with more real music in it than 
 any soprano you could rake up in seventeen 
 states. Ever since he's been here the whole 
 town has been wild over him, and the Director 
 of the School of Music says he hasn't had 
 such a voice in years." 
 
 "He's a comical little duffer, too," put in 
 Ned. "No one's ever glum when Jimmy's 
 around. He knocks a fit of the blues so hard 
 that things seem green by contrast," and the 
 Senior gravely caressed his mustache. "Yes, 
 I don't know what we'd do with out him," went 
 on Lawrence. "We have no end of fun with 
 the little fellow. He's as sly as a mouse but 
 he can't keep out of scrapes, and the fellows 
 have got so they play all kinds of jokes on 
 him. I sometimes think we're a pretty poor 
 lot, but then he's so good-natured you couldn't 
 make him mad if you tried a week. " And Law- 
 rence complacently balanced himself on the 
 back legs of his chair. 
 
 No one seemed inclined to continue the con- 
 versation and Ned seized the opportunity of 
 casting several admiring glances at himself in 
 the mirror opposite. Stanley sat with his eyes
 
 FOB THE SCAELET AND BLACK. 187 
 
 still fixed upon the picture. Suddenly he 
 looked around and said quietly but earnestly, 
 "How old is he?" 
 
 There was something in his voice which 
 caused Ned to look very sober for a moment, 
 and Lawrence so far forgot himself as to lose 
 his balance and bump his head with a whack 
 against the wall. 
 
 "Why, er seventeen I guess. One of the 
 boys said he'd be eighteen next Easter," and 
 Lawrence rubbed the bruised spot vigorously. 
 Stanley's cane rattled unheeded on the hearth. 
 He leaned his head on his hands and gazed in- 
 tently at the glowing coals. Finally he looked 
 up, and it was not without a touch of sadness in 
 his tone that he said slowly, "Well, that's 
 queer!" 
 
 "What's the matter?" demanded the others 
 in one breath. 
 
 Stanley took out his watch and glanced first 
 at it, then at Ned. "We've got just three- 
 quarters of an hour before that train comes," 
 he said. "If you want to spare the time, I'll 
 try to explain. Maybe you wouldn't mind 
 hearing the whole thing."
 
 188 ON" A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 "Let's have it by all means," assented Ned, 
 and Lawrence flung himself on the floor before 
 the fire with, "Psychology be hanged!" Stan- 
 ley crossed one leg over the other and leaned 
 back in his chair. 
 
 "Well," said he, "you fellows may think 
 me superstitious, or foolish or any thing you've 
 a mind to call it, but what you have been tell- 
 ing me about that Jim Brooks of yours is a 
 puzzler. When I was a Senior here, a little 
 Freshman entered college. That was nothing 
 unusual, only this was a particular Freshman. 
 He was just seventeen, had light blue eyes and 
 curly hair and was as handsome a youngster as 
 I ever set eyes upon. His name was David 
 Clark. Everybody liked him from the first. 
 I verily believe he had the happiest disposition 
 any boy ever possessed. We used to watch 
 him a good deal as he went about the campus. 
 Why, he was as fall of life as four ordinary 
 Freshmen. It amused us to see him vaulting 
 upon Blair Hall porch he never went up the 
 stone steps or jumping out of the windows 
 of Goodnow Hall. At first he just wrapped 
 the whole faculty about his little finger, but
 
 FOR THE SCARLET AND BLACK. 189 
 
 it wasn't a month until they found out that 
 that little twinkle in Davy's eye meant mis- 
 chief. One night he climbed on the veranda 
 of the ladies' dormitory and threw the college 
 dog,tied up in a bag, into one of the bed-rooms. 
 Several bad cases of hysterics resulted. 
 After that, the faculty had it in for him, and 
 many a trip did the little fellow make to 
 Prexie's private sanctum. But he always 
 came out on top. Prex never had the heart 
 to be severe, and the day after the interview, 
 Davy was sure to be found bobbing about as 
 serenely as ever. 
 
 "But Davy's voice I remember distinctly 
 the first time we ever heard it. It was his 
 first Friday morning at Chapel. Davy 
 bounded up the stairs just a moment late and 
 as the seats had not yet been assigned, he 
 stopped on the threshold and glanced about 
 for a place to sit down. I turned around just 
 in time to see his predicament and beckoned 
 to him. He saw me in an instant. Down the 
 aisle he marched and squeezed himself in 
 among the Seniors just as Prexie stood up to 
 give out the hymn, I offered him my book
 
 190 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 but he turned on me with a smile and said, 
 'I know it, I guess,' and fixed his eyes on 
 Prex. Well, I started out to sing, but before 
 I was half through the first score I forgot that 
 I ever knew how. The young Freshman evi- 
 dently did 'know it'. Such a voice as that 
 was a pretty scarce article on the front seats at 
 Chapel, and it wasn't two minutes before every 
 one else in that end of the room was silent. 
 Others as well as myself were charmed with 
 Davy's magnificent tenor. 
 
 "As we filed out of the chapel that morning 
 I said to my chum, Jack Niles, 'What's the 
 matter with that for Glee Club material?' 
 'What's the matter?' he repeated, 'why, man, 
 it's a sure go!' 
 
 "To make a long story short," went on 
 Stanley, leaning forward in his chair, "Davy 
 was elected to membership in the club, and it 
 was at the semi-weekly practice that I got to 
 know him well. He was the life of the whole 
 club and you can't imagine how much we 
 thought of him. One in particular, a big, 
 strapping Senior by the name of Tom, took 
 him under his protection at once and the
 
 FOR THE SCARLET AND BLACK. 191 
 
 friendship that existed between those two was 
 remarkable. It was simply great to see the 
 way they acted. Once Davy happened to be 
 late to a rehearsal. Tom got excited because 
 he didn't know the reason why and couldn't 
 find out ; he made up for it by grinding out all 
 the discord possible. Then the director got 
 excited. He had just picked up a paper 
 weight and ink bottle to settle matters with, 
 when in came Davy, and Tom sang as if he had 
 never heard a discord in his life. In every 
 thing Tom behaved just so. He seemed to 
 feel lost when he didn't have Davy." 
 
 "A la Damon and Pythias, don't you 
 know," observed the Senior. 
 
 "Well, the weeks wore on and the Easter 
 vacation brought with it the trip. It was an 
 old story to some of us and we took it as a 
 matter of course, but to the new members it 
 was the greatest event of the year. Davy 
 looked upon it as the best kind of an oppor- 
 tunity for a lark, and from the moment we 
 rolled out of the Herndon depot he Avas half 
 wild. Every station at which we stopped he 
 was the first to reach the platform when the
 
 192 ON A WESTEltN CAMPUS. 
 
 train slowed up, and the last to leave it when 
 we were off again. I remember the afternoon 
 just before we gave our first concert at Clinton. 
 It had been drizzling all the morning and all 
 of us except Davy had stayed religiously inside 
 the car. A little wet weather, however, wasn't 
 enough to dampen his spirits and if anything, 
 he was livelier than ever. Tom stopped him 
 once or twice and said anxiously: 'Go a little 
 slow there, you young monkey,' at which Davy 
 turned around with an injured air and looked 
 him straight in the face; then they both 
 laughed outright and Davy knew he had con- 
 quered. 
 
 "By noon the clouds partially rolled away. 
 The sun came out and dried things up a bit 
 and the afternoon was all that could be de- 
 sired. We were due at Clinton at just four 
 o'clock, and as the train had been delayed 
 somewhat, the engineer was trying to make 
 up for lost time. As we pulled into a small 
 village about ten miles distant from Clinton, 
 Davy took his customary position upon the 
 rear platform. The place was small. Only 
 two or three men lounged about the little
 
 FOR THE SCARLET AN"D BLACK. 193 
 
 station and Davy was just on the point of 
 heeding Tom's advice to 'go slow', and stay 
 where he was, when out of the station door 
 rushed a young girl with such an expectant 
 look on her face that all thoughts of Tom's 
 advice were driven to the four winds. In her 
 haste she dropped a small package which she 
 carried in her arms. It fell with a splash into 
 a little pool of water at her feet. That settled 
 it. Davy plunged wildly into the air, and 
 Tom looked out of the window just in time to 
 see the pool of water do its work. In the next 
 instant the young lady, the package, and Davy 
 lay in a confused heap on the platform. A 
 curly head, minus a hat, was just emerging 
 from the mass when the train pulled away in 
 the direction of Clinton. 
 
 "That was only the beginning of Davy's 
 mishaps. He came along two hours later on a 
 freight and sang with the crowd in the even- 
 ing, but the trouble he got into from that time 
 on would fill a book." 
 
 "Well, he was all right as I live," inter- 
 rupted Ned, "I'd have done the same thing 
 myself."
 
 194 OK A WESTEKTC CAMPUS. 
 
 "With the same result probably," grinned 
 Lawrence from the hearth rug. Stanley smiled, 
 twirled the knob on his chair for a few moments, 
 and then continued. 
 
 "But the concerts how we did enjoy them 
 and the receptions which always followed. 
 The brilliant footlights and the sea of faces, 
 the rollicking songs and the beautifully 
 dressed maidens who smiled at us from the 
 boxes; each had a fascination for us all, and 
 as for Davy, he seemed to be living in the 
 seventh heaven. His voice never failed to cap- 
 ture the audience from the start and many a 
 rosebud from daintily-gloved hands found its 
 way to his feet. He always acknowledged the 
 favor with a smiling bow which in itself 
 was enough to ensure an encore, and when he 
 came out to sing again his voice would be 
 sweeter than ever. 
 
 "After the first concert, Tom completely 
 lost his dignity and rushed headlong into the 
 dressing-room, tumbling everybody right and 
 left until he found Davy. Then he grabbed 
 the youngster with both hands and hugged 
 him vigorously. 'We made the biggest hit
 
 FOR THE SCARLET AND BLACK. 195 
 
 to-night we've made for years,' he exclaimed, 
 'and you did it, Davy, you did it.' Some one 
 cried 'Rah! Rah! Rah! Davy,' and we took it 
 up with a will and yelled until the very walls 
 shook. 
 
 "0, those were times, times a fellow don't 
 forget very soon either. I'm not very much 
 of a crank, but I'd be willing to put the events 
 of those two weeks alongside of any thing 
 that's happened here in the last ten years. 
 
 "Finally the last concert came. We had a 
 crowded house. The numbers were received 
 with enthusiasm right along, but something 
 seemed to be lacking. Even Davy was de- 
 pressed during the first part of the program, 
 but during the intermission he came around 
 with a poor attempt at a smile, and said: 'It's 
 the last time we'll all sing together, fellows, 
 but let's do our best anyway. Every man of 
 us brace up a bit. ' 
 
 "We tried to follow out the suggestion, and 
 the next two or three numbers were much 
 better, but it was not until we came to the 
 last thing on the program that we really 
 livened up. That was our dear old 'Scarlet
 
 196 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 and Black' and we couldn't help but do our 
 best. Davy cried out just as we were filing to 
 our places on the stage, 'Whoop 'er now, 
 boys!' and we did it. The first two verses of 
 the old piece : 
 
 'Sing to the college with banner so bright, 
 sing to the Scarlet and Black,' 
 
 seemed to thrill us through and through. Tom 
 looked at Davy standing in his place at the 
 end of the line. It was the youngster's favor- 
 ite. "With his hands clasped behind his back 
 and his eyes raised, he was pouring forth his 
 whole soul. 
 
 "We were in the middle of the second 
 stanza. Tom said afterwards that he had 
 never felt so inspired in his life. With light- 
 ning-like rapidity he went over in his mind all 
 the happy events of his college days. His first 
 few weeks at school, his prowess on the foot- 
 ball field, his membership in the Glee Club, 
 and now he was a Senior in a few short 
 weeks it would all be over, but still to-night he 
 could sing and his college song was his inspira- 
 tion. 
 
 "Suddenly a sharp, clear sound like the
 
 FOR THE SCARLET AND BLACK. 197 
 
 snapping of a pistol rose above our voices. 
 Then a slight crash and silence. 
 
 "A long row of gas-jets attached to a large 
 tin reflector extending the whole length of the 
 stage, had swayed uneasily in the breeze from 
 an open window all the evening long. The 
 strain had told upon the small wire which 
 held the jets and one end had given way. 
 In falling it had fortunately caught upon a 
 loose loop in one of the ropes which regulated 
 the flies and hung suspended in the air at an 
 angle of about thirty degrees. 
 
 "Davy had seen the accident first, and re- 
 alized what might be the consequences. 
 Quick as a flash he flew across the platform, 
 up the ladder, and in an instant was bending 
 above our heads. The gas-jets flickered dan- 
 gerously near the dry and dusty flies and al- 
 ready one of them was smoking. Another 
 moment and the house would be in flames. 
 With one hand Davy steadied himself. With 
 the other he reached out after the rope. We 
 held our breath. He might not reach it. We 
 saw him bend lower and in an instant the rope 
 was in his hand, the gas-jets once more in place.
 
 198 ON A WESTERN^CAMPUS. 
 
 "'Rah! Rah! Davy,' some one yelled; but 
 the cry was never finished. 
 
 "Whether it was from dizziness or a misstep 
 we never knew. Davy swayed and fell. Tom 
 uttered an exclamation of horror and sprang 
 forward with outstretched arms. It was too 
 late. A dark heap lay there before us on the 
 floor. We gathered around with blanched 
 faces, as Tom sank upon his knees and took 
 the little fellow in his great strong arms. 
 
 " 'Are you hurt? Are you hurt, Davy?' 
 he asked hoarsely. 
 
 "For one moment the lad opened his eyes 
 and fixed them steadily upon Tom. 
 
 " 'Tom,' he gasped, 'Tom, it's all right 
 tell them to go on The Scarlet and Black I 
 want them to. ' And then with voices that 
 trembled with emotion, we finished our Alma 
 Mater's song." 
 
 There was a loud stamping of feet on the 
 stairway and a strain of rollicking laughter 
 came up the corridor of the Old Hall as Stan- 
 ley paused. The Alpha Nu's had returned 
 from the reception. Finally he said slowly: 
 
 "There's not much of anything left to tell.
 
 FOR THE SCARLET AND BLACK. 199 
 
 Of course the curtain was rung down and the 
 audience dismissed as soon as possible. Two or 
 three physicians came on the stage and did 
 what they could, and all of us lent a hand to 
 make Davy comfortable. Tom had placed his 
 burden upon a couch in one of the dressing- 
 rooms but he still held the curly head in both 
 his hands. A consultation was hastily held. 
 He had suffered internal injuries, they said; 
 he might live a month possibly more but he 
 would never Avalk again. At first Tom lis- 
 tened as though dazed. Then he realized 
 what it all meant and buried his head in 
 Davy's curls and cried like a child." 
 
 The fire in George Lawrence's room had al- 
 most gone out when the two visitors rose to go. 
 
 "I see I've missed my train," said Stanley 
 drawing on his gloves, "but this is the first 
 time I've told that story for years, and when I 
 got started I couldn't stop." 
 
 "Glad you didn't," blurted out Ned as he 
 reached for his hat. Lawrence leaned against 
 the mantel-piece, seemingly absorbed in
 
 200 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 thought. Finally he looked up and asked 
 with an attempt at carelessness : 
 
 "By the way, what became of Tom?" 
 The visitor hesitated a moment. "He has 
 been a real estate agent in one of our western 
 towns for the last ten years," he said, "and 
 people say he is doing well. To the busi- 
 ness world he is known as Thomas Stanley."
 
 The Work of the Storm. 
 
 CHAELIE HILLMAN was striding at a 
 rapid rate down the railroad, with his 
 head hung low and his hands thrust deep in- 
 to his pockets. He had the blues. When 
 Charlie Hillman had the blues he usually felt 
 desperate. He ought to be at the editors' meet- 
 ing at the college, but then, he knew that he 
 would only make trouble, and what did he care 
 how the paper came out? He would graduate 
 next week and what was the use of wasting 
 more time? Had he not done his share 
 already? 
 
 The day was sultry and close, and the half- 
 haze seemed to increase the intense heat. The 
 sun appeared like an immense ball of fire, 
 grudgingly going on its course. A hot day is 
 still hotter along a railroad. The sand gleams 
 and the rails glisten with more heat than bright- 
 ness. The pebbles crunched under Hillman's 
 feet, the wires buzzed, the smothered breath 
 
 (201)
 
 202 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 of the south wind burned his cheek ; but on he 
 went. Where was he going? "To destruc- 
 tion," he might have said," and the sooner the 
 better." In the turmoil of his brain, he 
 almost wished that a train might steal upon 
 him and end his miserable existence. What 
 had he to live for? Why was he going to col- 
 lege? What would he do with himself next 
 year? He didn't care, nor did anyone. That 
 was just it no one cared whether he would ever 
 amount to anything. No one ever sympathiz- 
 ed with him in his troubles. Well, there was 
 Maud Garland, but he had no reason to think 
 that she cared what he did. She would prob- 
 ably think him a fool if she saw him walking 
 off in this absurd manner. And he didn't 
 care what she thought. AVhy did she say that 
 he did not get his lessons as well as he should ; 
 that he ought to like Professor Small? Why 
 did she ask him if he wasn't wasting his time 
 reading instead of studying? 
 
 With such thoughts, he plunged down the 
 steep embankment without noticing the blue 
 eyes of the late violet, peeping at him as if in 
 surprise at his ruthless footsteps, or the white
 
 THE WORK OF THE STORM. 203 
 
 anemone which he loved so much at other 
 times. He leaped over the fence as though a 
 fiend were in pursuit. He did not stop until 
 he came to a stream rippling gently before 
 him. He could not jump across it. He would 
 not turn back, so, flinging himself down, he 
 bathed his burning face. It was a beautiful 
 spot. The dogwoods and elders were in full 
 blossom, and below them the purple phlox and 
 may-apple. The enterprising buttercup at his 
 feet was just sending out runners to start new 
 colonies. The sedges at his side bent 
 gracefully over the whispering ripples. Gnats 
 and bees hummed about him. The merry 
 note of the brown thrush, the clear-toned call 
 of the robin might have roused him. But no; 
 he looked on all this joyous life and beauty as 
 only a taunt to his feelings. Why should all 
 nature be contented and happy, and he perfectly 
 wretched, with nothing to live for? Why was 
 he made with a soul that must have an object 
 in life? What was he made for, anyway? 
 
 Hours passed without his notice. The sun 
 was sinking. He sprang to his feet and 
 scrambled to the track with a vague sense of
 
 204 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 his distance from home and of anxiety for his 
 sister, left alone. How strange the sky ap- 
 peared. The sun was now gone, but the whole 
 western heavens glowed with brilliant red. 
 The soft, fleecy clouds grew black and furi- 
 ous, sending down long blunt fingers as 
 though eager to grasp the earth. A peculiar feel- 
 ing of dread aroused him and with increasing 
 sense of concern, he hurried homeward. The 
 clouds piled up behind him. Before he reached 
 home, the lightning became fearful and the 
 thunder terrific. Fearing that his sister might 
 be frightened, he burst open the door of their 
 college home, and cried out : 
 
 "Lucy, where are you?" 
 
 "Here, Charlie, where have you been? Just 
 see what a storm is coming. You might 
 have been caught." 
 
 Charlie was relieved to find his sister, who 
 was standing in the west door, watching the 
 rolling, turning and twisting of the great 
 masses of clouds. She was not frightened 
 herself and even his absence did not cause her 
 alarm, she was so interested in the sight be- 
 fore her. Slowly the clouds were wound, as
 
 THE WORK OF THE STORM. 205 
 
 about a great distaff, into one immense roll. 
 A shuddering stillness came upon all about 
 them. Lucy unconsciously clutched Charlie's 
 shoulder. A moment of breathless silence, 
 and then a distant roar as of a thousand cars, 
 which grew louder and louder ; then a crash as 
 though heaven and earth had collided. 
 
 "Oh, Charlie, the college!" exclaimed Lucy, 
 and they watched the west building totter, 
 tremble, and fall, not as a mass, but as though 
 each brick were separated from the others. It 
 seemed to fall almost slowly and not as the 
 roof and corners of Center College, which, with 
 a sudden lurch, took a flying leap over miles of 
 space. It seemed hours as the two stood and 
 watched that terrible sight, yet it was scarcely 
 a moment between the first crash and the sud- 
 den jerk of their own house which made 
 Charlie catch his sister and run to the cellar. 
 There they crouched in fear and awe. The 
 deep roar of the storm and the crash of the 
 trees, the thud of immense weights, 
 finally gave place to the rush of roaring rain. 
 Down it came in torrents as though the clouds, 
 having failed to wreak full vengeance by wind,
 
 206 ON A WESTEKN CAMPUS. 
 
 had burst in their rage and poured out stream 
 after stream of renewed wrath. 
 
 Charlie and Lucy crept upstairs, unwilling 
 to remain longer in the dark and gloomy cel- 
 lar. What a sight was revealed to them by 
 the intermittent flashes of lightning! It was 
 perfect chaos. 
 
 "Lucy, you are all right, I'm going to the 
 college to help. I know there were boys in 
 Stewart Hall, and society had begun in Center 
 College. Hope they're not all killed." 
 Charlie hurried from the house, but found his 
 way obstructed . Trees, mixed with lumber in a 
 confused mass, were piled in heaps before him ; 
 bodies of dead animals lay in his path ; rush- 
 ing streams of water took him off his feet. 
 Scrambling up, he anxiously worked his way 
 on. At last he succeeded in reaching the rail- 
 road, along which he had walked so dejectedly 
 but a short time before. He heard sounds 
 which made him think the evening freight 
 had been overturned by the storm, but he 
 could not linger for anything ; he must get to 
 the boys. By the aid of his lantern he picked 
 his way across the campus. He surely heard
 
 THE WORK OF THE STORM. 207 
 
 voices. All were not killed, then, or perhaps 
 others had succeeded in getting there before 
 him. 
 
 "Here's Charlie Hillman," some one called 
 from a group gathered by the mound of bricks, 
 timbers, window-sashes and other wreckage of 
 the large building, all looking as though it 
 had been through the first grind of an im- 
 mense millstone. 
 
 "Yes, I'm here. Are you all safe? Are 
 there any in the ruins?" 
 
 "Don't know. Where's Harry ?" 
 
 "Here," came a weak voice from the dark 
 heap. A terrified look came over the boys' 
 faces. 
 
 "Come, let's get him," and Charlie plunged 
 forward into the mass. "Where are you, 
 Harry?" 
 
 They suddenly came upon a form, scarcely 
 visible by the light of the one lantern, and 
 covered by timbers and plaster. George 
 Trenton! How terrible! Was he dead? 
 
 "I'll run for help and give the alarm," 
 called one as he sped away toward town. 
 Many from near by began to come in,
 
 208 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 some with axes and saws, others with lanterns 
 and crowbars. 
 
 No one worked with more strength and skill 
 than Charlie Hillman. The violence of his 
 feeling in the afternoon was only directed into 
 another channel. Even the terrible sights 
 about him did not chase away his rebellious 
 thoughts. Why wasn't he under those bricks? 
 Why was he alive and George Trenton dead, 
 George, who had such a bright life before him? 
 With these thoughts raging through his brain, 
 he pulled timber from timber, sawed and 
 pounded to release Harry Turner. A groan 
 came to the ears of those at work. Turning, 
 they saw George raise his head and look with 
 dazed eyes at the sight about him. 
 
 "George, are you alive? Thank God! 
 George is alive! I'll take care of him; you 
 keep on with Harry." 
 
 "Boys," and there was a silence as Profes- 
 sor Hall spoke, "I think we can work 
 better if we know just how many are missing. 
 I will call the roll, and if you know where any 
 of the others are, answer." With a quaver in 
 his voice, the dear old Professor commenced
 
 THE WORK OF THE STORM. 200 
 
 with the A's. "Julia Anderson." "At home, 
 safe," answered her brother Tom. "Then you 
 are here, Tom," and two were marked present. 
 The Professor went on checking those present 
 and those reported safe, but when he came to 
 Arthur Camden's name there was a silence that 
 meant more than words. He was one of the nob- 
 lest of the students. There could not be a 
 more intense feeling of agitation and suspense 
 in a body of students than during those few 
 moments. Each feared to hear the next name 
 called and silently rejoiced when the answer 
 came, "safe". Five were not accounted 
 for. With sinking hearts, they turned 
 again to seek among the ruins for the missing 
 ones. 
 
 The attention of all was centered on this 
 one ruin, for the students from Center College 
 were safe except one, and it was known that 
 he was not in the building. A search party 
 had gone for him, while the rest worked to re- 
 lease Harry. 
 
 Suddenly a cry, "Look at Center College," 
 burst from many lips. Fire ! How the flames 
 blazed and flared ! Phosphorus in the cellar !
 
 210 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 Horrible ! The books were in that building. 
 They must be saved. Run for buckets! 
 Call the engine! Carry the books away! 
 Hurry with the water! What destruction 
 fire added to wind and rain ! Such a night 
 would never be spent on that campus again. 
 
 Charlie Hillman was again the leader. "With 
 renewed fierceness, he swung buckets from 
 right to left. Minutes passed like hours. Ex- 
 citing danger kept him absorbed for a time, 
 but he became restless, standing in the long 
 line. He called another to his place 
 and went to the pump. The man at the pump 
 was glad to be relieved. Charlie worked with 
 untiring strength. Many wondered afterward 
 at his remarkable endurance. The water 
 seemed to increase the flames instead of 
 quenching them. Their efforts would be in vain 
 if the engine did not arrive soon. It seemed 
 that it would never come, but if they could 
 have seen the men with the engine, as they 
 worked their way through the mass of ruins 
 in the flooded streets, they would not have 
 complained. Mud, water, fallen trees, roofs 
 of houses, everything hindered their coming.
 
 THE WORK OF THE STORM. 211 
 
 At last they arrived, but it was almost too 
 late. The streams from the engine could not 
 put out the fire, but only check its progress 
 into the library. 
 
 Daylight. What a sight for the rising sun! 
 The college in ruins! Hundreds of people 
 homeless ; scores of pitiful dead faces ! 
 
 Morning! What would it bring? Charlie 
 Hillman dared not think. He was glad he 
 could spend the day working as he had spent 
 the night. "Maud Garland!" The thought 
 of her came over him like a flash. Was she 
 safe, or was she in the ruins? Calling another 
 to his work, he escaped from the crowd. He 
 made his way through the rubbish towards the 
 east. He had been told that the storm was 
 less severe in that part of the town, and until 
 now he had not feared for her safety. 
 
 He saw many working at their homes, or 
 where their homes had been, bringing together 
 material to protect the children, many of whom 
 were stripped of clothing and sat shivering, 
 huddled in groups, waiting for shelter. There 
 was a group weeping over a dead mother. 
 Charlie's heart recoiled in fear, Could it be
 
 212 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 that Maud was dead? Why had he not looked 
 for her before. What an agony of suspense ! 
 He hurried on, unconscious of everything but 
 the possibility that Maud might be dead, 
 when he stumbled and fell beside a body 
 stretched upon the wet ground. It was a 
 child. With difficulty Charlie recognized 
 Donald, Maud's little brother, whom the wind 
 had carried several hundred feet. Poor little 
 boy! How white his face was and what feeble 
 breath came from his lips! Charlie wrapped 
 his coat about him and lifted him tenderly in 
 his arms, carrying him towards the place where 
 his home had been. 
 
 There were a number of people gathered 
 around the ruins of Mr. Garland's home. Charlie 
 carried his burden to the child's father. 
 "Mr. Garland, here is Donald. I found him 
 but a short distance away." 
 
 "Charlie Hillman, did you come from the 
 skies? My little Donald! Praise God! I 
 have been working all night to find him and 
 Maud. my dear boy!" With manly tears, 
 Mr. Garland took his still unconscious son and 
 caressed him,
 
 THE WORK OF THE STORM. 213 
 
 "I will take him to Mrs. Holland's. They 
 have one room left which can be used for the 
 wounded. Oh, if we could only find Maud! 
 Can she be under the house, or was she blown 
 away like Donald?" Charlie's heart thrilled at 
 the word 'we'. The father had unconsciously 
 shown him that he was a partner in anxiety 
 for Maud. 
 
 "Where was Maud when the storm struck?" 
 he asked. 
 
 "With Donald, in the dining-room. You 
 see the back wall is standing, but the roof has 
 fallen down and leans against it. She may be 
 under that end. I have been removing every- 
 thing I could, but have not heard a sound. 
 Hark, what is that?" Charlie bounded to the 
 spot. 
 
 "Father," and a voice in pain came from 
 beneath the great sideboard. 
 
 "Maud!" Charlie called before the father 
 could command his feelings. 
 
 "Mr. Garland, you take Donald and I will 
 work here." With a muttered prayer of 
 thanksgiving, Mr. Garland turned away. 
 Charlie worked now with a renewed strength.
 
 214 ON A AVESTEEN CAMPUS. 
 
 Not a forced, fierce strength, but strength 
 brought by the love in his own heart and the 
 encouragement Maud gave him from time to 
 time. Somehow as he worked, she seemed to 
 reveal to him a future for himself, and every 
 trace of yesterday's pain and desperation van- 
 ished. Life opened with new meaning before 
 him. Whether Maud might live, or living, 
 love him, did not trouble him at the moment ; 
 he loved her, and that was enough. For an 
 hour they worked, until they had moved away 
 the great sideboard. Maud lived, and in some 
 way he understood that she cared. Tenderly 
 they laid her on a pile of clothing they had 
 gathered. She lay still and helpless. Her 
 father remained with her while Charlie went in 
 search of a stretcher. 
 
 There was no dejection in the face of Mr. 
 Garland as he looked upon his home in the 
 dim, morning light. Home and everything 
 might be taken if only Maud and Donald were 
 spared. What were houses and lands to the 
 loving presence of the daughter who had so 
 well filled the place left vacant in his home. 
 Mother and wife were gone, but the third
 
 THE WORK OF THE STORM. 215 
 
 angel which blesses a man's life, the daughter, 
 was still with him. Life meant much to him 
 when those trusting eyes looked into his. 
 
 Such thoughts as these filled his mind as he 
 talked with Maud. He told her how he had 
 hunted for her and Donald; how Charlie had 
 found Donald, who Avas safe and out of dan- 
 ger. She forgot her pain in her joy at hearing 
 that Donald was alive. 
 
 Upon the improvised stretcher which Charlie 
 brought, they slowly carried her to the school- 
 house, which was turned into a hospital. A 
 number of injured were there before them, and 
 all the skill and tenderness possible were used 
 to relieve them. Maud waited her turn, hold- 
 ing her father's hand to help bear the pain. 
 
 Charlie helped the busy men and women ar- 
 range beds, remove seats, and care for the in- 
 jured. He worked in this way until the sur- 
 geon attended Maud and pronounced her in- 
 juries less serious than they had dared to hope. 
 He cheered her with hopeful words, now that 
 the uncertainty was over. Then he grasped 
 Mr. Garland's hand warmly and passed silently 
 from the room.
 
 216 ON" A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 It was almost a feeling of exultation which 
 filled him as he walked down the street. He 
 left the sorrow and suffering to look again 
 upon nature. The contrast between the 
 devastated city and the quiet of the 
 meadows and trees outside, was like the 
 change in his own being; from strife and 
 turmoil to peace and happiness. He strolled 
 through a pasture and came to a large pond. 
 This pond was always well known for its beau- 
 tiful water-lilies. Charlie remembered Maud's 
 fondness for the pure white flowers. He waded 
 to some of the freshest and broke their stems. 
 As he looked upon their delicate whiteness, he 
 compared them to Maud. He felt the sweet- 
 ness of her life appeal to him just as the per- 
 fume of the lilies appealed to his senses, stir- 
 ring within him a love for the pure and true. 
 
 Home again! He stepped into the kitchen, 
 where Lucy was preparing breakfast. 
 
 "Oh, Charlie, have you been working all 
 night? If I hadn't been so busy I would have 
 worried about you. Now, you must want 
 something to eat. I'll make you some coffee
 
 THE WORK OF THE STORM. 217 
 
 in just a moment. You surely want some. 
 Won't you rest now?" 
 
 "No, Lucy, I shall find plenty to do. What 
 have you been doing?" 
 
 "Helping as much as I could. Did you know 
 they are taking all the injured people to the 
 school-house? You did? Well, I'm going to 
 help nurse. They have asked the college girls 
 to come. I can do as much good that way as 
 any." 
 
 Charlie thought of Maud. "Maud is down 
 there. She is very badly injured." 
 
 "Maud! Oh, Charlie, how is she hurt? Is 
 it serious?" 
 
 "Not so badly as we feared. Her limbs were 
 badly crushed and she suffers much pain, but 
 she will live. You should have seen her when 
 her father and I carried her down to the 
 school-house; she was so patient. She seemed 
 to think more about Donald than of her own 
 suffering. I don't see how anyone can be so 
 patient, but then Maud is always so." 
 
 "Yes, the dear girl! Can't I go down right 
 now and see her?" 
 
 "No, let's finish our breakfast and we will
 
 218 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 both go. I went to Malcomb's pond and got 
 these lilies for her. Come, Lucy, don't be so 
 grieved, we ought to be glad that it is no worse. 
 Just think how many were killed." 
 
 "I know, it's terrible; I can hardly believe 
 it! Poor Maud." They ate very little break- 
 fast. In a few minutes the brother and sister 
 were walking toward town. So intent were they 
 upon their own thoughts that scarcely a word 
 passed. Lucy was filled with dismay at the 
 terrible ruin about her. It was a miracle that 
 anyone was alive after such a storm. With a 
 feeling of relief, they passed the ruins and 
 came to the open streets again. 
 
 "There is Captain Douglass in his uniform. 
 Wonder why that is? Good-morning, Captain, 
 isn't this terrible?" 
 
 "Good-morning," said the Captain with a 
 bow. "You are just the one I want to see. 
 You take this list of the company in the south 
 part of town ; I will go on here, and notify the 
 members of a call to the armory at nine o'clock. 
 Explain in a very few words that it will be 
 necessary to stand guard to-day over the scat- 
 tered possessions of our citizens. Train-loads
 
 THE WORK OF THE STORM. 219 
 
 of people are coming in to see the sights and 
 there may be thieving." With another bow 
 the Captain went on. Lucy secretly wondered 
 if anything in the world would ever stir Mr. 
 Douglass enough to make him show any feel- 
 ing. 
 
 Soon they reached the school-house. Lucy 
 turned in. "Aren't you coming in, Charlie?" 
 
 "No. I will go to the armory. You can 
 give these to Maud," he said, handing her the 
 bunch of lilies. 
 
 A strange world this is. Each one so 
 wrapped in himself, yet finding pleasure in do- 
 ing some little kindness for another. Life goes 
 in a circle ; from self to others, from others to 
 self. What is the right feeling after all? 
 
 Charlie walked along thinking these things. 
 He hoped that Maud would find pleasure in 
 the lilies, and that they would turn her 
 thoughts to him. Must self be first? How 
 otherwise? But it was only a moment that he 
 felt so ; no, life was to be lived for others for 
 Maud. 
 
 It was noon. The sun was glaring down
 
 220 ON" A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 upon the piles of ruins, and upon the dis- 
 tressed people who were collecting their furni- 
 ture or keepsakes to begin again a home for 
 themselves. It was the Sabbath, but the peo- 
 ple of the town felt that they could worships 
 God better that day by helping their neigh- 
 bors than by holding church service. 
 
 Charlie Hillman stood above the immense 
 pile of debris, gun in hand, to protect the people 
 in their search. His grief for the homeless 
 only increased his anger at the crowd which 
 surged around, picking up little articles as 
 curiosities; making rude remarks about the 
 appearance of the people; jesting at the loss 
 and destruction, with utter disregard for the 
 feelings and sufferings of those about. Could 
 people be so thoughtless as to look upon suf- 
 fering as a joke? How could men, with in- 
 difference, watch a mother gather little keep- 
 sakes of her dead child? How harsh that care- 
 less laugh sounded upon the air so fraught 
 with pain and trouble. Was all kindness of 
 heart lost? A group of young men, insolently 
 puffed their cigars and turned away with a 
 joke, when asked by two young boys to help
 
 THE WORK OF THE STORM. 221 
 
 remove a heavy timber from a slightly dam- 
 aged piano. That was a little thing, but 
 typical of the crowd. Hundreds came and 
 looked upon the distress as upon a circus, 
 with a prying curiosity which was cruel to 
 the sufferers. 
 
 Charlie watched all this, and anger and 
 shame blazed on his cheek. It was a new view 
 of humanity. Was this the world in which he 
 was to try life? Would all be as selfish as 
 these? No; and then he thought of Maud. 
 He did not care what others were ; he would 
 live for her. He rejoiced that there was some- 
 thing above all this sordidness. So the day 
 went on, distress and disregard before his 
 eyes, but kindness in his heart. Charlie could 
 scarcely realize that it was only yesterday that 
 he walked down the railroad track in such a 
 reckless mood. When he was relieved of 
 guard duty, he felt as though he had been liv- 
 ing in such scenes for an age. At last, he felt 
 the need of rest for mind and body. He would 
 see Maud, and then he could pass the night 
 in sleep. 
 
 It was a sad yet pretty sight which met his
 
 222 ON" A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 eyes when he entered the hospital. White 
 curtains and drapings, with here and there 
 bouquets of June flowers, made the place seem 
 pure and sweet. There was much suffering, 
 but more patience; and there were some 
 smiles for him as he passed down the room. 
 Maud welcomed him, and thanked him for the 
 lilies. He watched her with loving glance as 
 she fondled her little brother sitting with his 
 head near her own. Her gentle love and 
 patience made him almost reverence her. He 
 no longer wished he was under that pile of 
 bricks, and he felt that he had as bright a life 
 before him as George Trenton. Life meant 
 more to him now, although a cyclone from 
 heaven was needed to bring the revelation.
 
 The Professor's Story. 
 
 IT WAS the last evening in December, and 
 it seemed as if the skies themselves were 
 draped in sorrow for the dying year. The 
 smoke hung low in the streets, and mingling 
 with the slowly drifting mist, veiled the col- 
 lege town of Herndon in a mantle of gloom. 
 
 Professor Townsend's residence on Campus 
 Square loomed in the struggling light of the 
 street lamps, frowning and stern as a prison. 
 Yet once within and all was changed. The 
 large parlors, still adorned with Christmas 
 holly and other bits of winter greenery, were 
 filled with guests. A fire that would have 
 added cheer to any yule-tide blazed brightly in 
 a wide hearth. Its dancing beams imparted 
 a pleasing warmth to the old paintings and 
 adorned with curious reflections a profusion 
 of vases, statuettes, bric-a-brac and other 
 treasured mementos of the host's journeyings 
 far afield. 
 
 (223)
 
 224: ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 It was a watch-night function, and as Pro- 
 fessor Townsend's capabilities as a host were 
 in high repute on Campus Square, the faculty 
 was out in force. The mourning skies, with 
 their trailing shrouds of fog and smoke had 
 not stained a single face with sadness. Glad 
 welcome for the new year that would be born 
 with the morning rang in every voice. It 
 shone in the beaming faces of staid matrons, 
 and again in the unwonted vivacity of the 
 demure lady teachers from the academy. It 
 was reflected anew in the unrestrained good 
 humor of the senior professors, and was 
 focussed almost to ignition in the animation 
 of the younger instructors. This glow of good 
 nature melted scholastic reserve and class- 
 room seriousness, and soon reduced even the 
 most refractory elements to a delightful 
 fusion. 
 
 The gifted host scientifically placed every 
 guest in contact with the proper opposite, so 
 that not a single discordant note marred the 
 social harmony. He paired the austere senior 
 professor with Miss Lamar, the instructress in 
 French, Her vivacity and wit were contagi-^
 
 THE PROFESSOR'S STORY. 225 
 
 ous and soon his wintry face beamed like a 
 June morning. The diffident young geolo- 
 gist was entrusted to the lady principal, a 
 genial soul whose mere presence was a bene- 
 diction to a bashful man. The youthful but 
 eccentric Professor Rolleston was consigned 
 to the social mercies of the amiable hostess. 
 Every guest was made at ease and soon the 
 rooms were filled with the confused hum of 
 voices. The stream of merry sound flowed 
 on, broken continually by ripples of laughter, 
 and lashed now and then almost to under- 
 graduate boisterousness by the jokes of the 
 facetious Latin professor. 
 
 Music came and then refreshments, after 
 which the host rose and said: "We will 
 consider the long couch at the angle of the 
 fire-place a sort of prisoners' bench. The 
 bachelors of this company will seat them- 
 selves thereon and await sentence." After 
 arranging the remainder of the company in a 
 wide semi-circle facing the smiling culprits 
 and turning off the lights so that only the 
 beams from the hearth lighted the expectant 
 faces, he continued, with feigned seriousness:
 
 226 ON A WESTEKN CAMPUS. 
 
 "The bachelor is multiplying among us and 
 in connection therewith I have noted another 
 significant fact. The genus Spinster which 
 was once an exotic and rarely bloomed among 
 us, now appears quite naturalized in our midst. 
 Our bachelors are certainly reprehensible, and 
 I take it, that any civilized method of domes- 
 tication will meet with approval. Bachelors, 
 stand up, while I pronounce doom! In par- 
 tial expiation, you shall each relate, for the 
 edification of this watch-night gathering, some 
 interesting experience of your college life. 
 Total expiation will doubtless prevent a 
 repetition of this sentence, for the new year is 
 a multiple of four. Professor Carter is first on 
 my card." 
 
 The junior members, as a body, were men 
 of unusual talents, and some rare tales followed. 
 Several were fresh from foreign scenes and two 
 had penetrated the mystic veil of the orient. 
 Some narrated with delightful informality; 
 others, for contrast, embellished their tales 
 with many elegancies of the story-telling art. 
 Even the timid geologist surprised the com- 
 pany with a capital story of Oberlin days. To
 
 THE PROFESSOE'S STORY. 227 
 
 the pleased listeners each new tale seemed more 
 captivating than the last. The penalty in- 
 flicted apparently in jest resulted in a royal 
 contest. 
 
 The group of the condemned thinned, one 
 by one, until only Professor Rolleston re- 
 mained. Then the interest slackened, for the 
 company felt that the story-telling was at an 
 end. No one had ever known Professor Rol- 
 leston to lay aside his peculiar reserve, during 
 his two years in the chair of history. The 
 opinion prevailed that, whatever his ability in 
 the class-room, outside of it he was decidedly 
 an enigma, and that socially, at least, he was 
 an insignificant figure. The instructress in 
 French shrugged her shoulders, and leaning 
 toward her companion, confided in a low tone : 
 "I am sure Professor Townsend has made a 
 mistake this time. The idea of saving Pro- 
 fessor Rolleston until the last ! Why, any one 
 of them, even our shy geologist, would have 
 done better! It's a pity to spoil such a pro- 
 gram with an anticlimax." 
 
 Professor Rolleston rose. There was a re- 
 fined strength in his clean-cut features, but
 
 228 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 his dark, far-gazing eyes gave an expression 
 of almost mysterious reserve and abstraction 
 to his sober face. He began by explaining, in 
 a hesitating, embarrassed manner, that the 
 host had asked him the day before to be ready 
 with some story of his student days. 
 
 "Professor Townsend knew," he went on, 
 "that I spent part of my college life on the 
 Pacific Coast, and suggested that I relate 
 some incident of my life there. I had my 
 share of adventures, but I could not entertain 
 you by trying to tell them. I am not a story- 
 teller, so I asked if I might read one instead. 
 During my senior year at Berksly, I had an 
 unusual experience on New Year's eve. I 
 spent the vacation in the Sonoma country 
 looking up material in old Spanish records, for 
 an historical essay. Late in the afternoon of 
 the last day of the year, I set out upon a drive 
 of twenty miles to the little seaside village of 
 Villanne. The road was unexpectedly diffi- 
 cult, the fog came in and I got lost in the 
 coast hills. I finally found shelter at a ranch- 
 house. What my hostess told me that night 
 impressed me so deeply that I wrote it out the
 
 THE PROFESSOR'S STORY. 229 
 
 next day while her words were fresh in 
 memory. It is a sober story, but I thought it 
 might not be out of place to read it to you in 
 this last hour of the departing year." 
 
 His hesitation was disappearing now and all 
 eyes were turned upon his grave, earnest face. 
 Yet the attention was prompted more by curi- 
 osity than by any anticipation of what was to 
 follow. The hostess placed a reading lamp so 
 that its screened beams fell upon his man- 
 uscript. The touch of the pages was an in- 
 spiration, an open sesame to a new side of his 
 nature. He seemed to change before them 
 and the unexpected revelation gave his words 
 peculiar charm and power. In a voice which 
 gathered earnestness and pathos as he went 
 on, he read the following story : 
 
 After wandering about in ink-like darkness, it 
 seemed for hours, completely confused and be- 
 wildered, there suddenly appeared a glow in 
 the fog. My horse stopped short and would 
 not budge. Then it flashed upon me that 
 perhaps I had reached the brink of some
 
 230 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 precipice near the ocean, and that the glow 
 came from a signal light upon an opposing 
 cliff. Somewhat frightened, I groped my way 
 cautiously around to my horse's head. But, 
 instead of finding the edge of an abyss, I 
 struck my head solidly against a beam, and, 
 for a moment, the whole firmament blazed 
 with signals. Yet I never received a more 
 welcome jolt. The beam was a part of a 
 huge gate with a roadway leading through it. 
 I opened it and leading my exhausted horse 
 slowly up the lane, found a large ranch-house, 
 from a window of which the light was stream- 
 ing into the fog. I went to the door and 
 knocked. It was promptly opened, and in 
 the light that flooded through it, stood a gray- 
 haired woman with large, black, flashing eyes, 
 who surveyed me keenly from head to foot. 
 
 "Well, sir, what do you want here?" was 
 the abrupt greeting which followed her search- 
 ing glance. For an instant I was confused. 
 She had not given me time to say, 'Good even- 
 ing.' Then, realizing the seriousness of my 
 plight, I said: "I want a place to stay over 
 night, some supper for myself and shelter for
 
 THE PROFESSOR'S STORY. 231 
 
 my horse. I started from Santa Rosa for Vil- 
 lanne about sunset. I have lost my way in 
 the fog, and my horse is tired out." 
 
 "Well, you haven't travelled very fast then. 
 You are some distance off the direct road, but 
 all you have to do is to keep on down the 
 coast for seven miles. I don't like to keep 
 strangers," she replied curtly. 
 
 I answered with some earnestness: "My 
 horse cannot stand it. Even if I shouldn't 
 get lost again, he will never pull me through 
 seven miles of stones and sand to-night. If 
 you can't keep me, I shall have to sleej) out 
 in the fog." She did not reply for an instant. 
 Then suddenly her whole manner changed, 
 and, in a softened, almost tremulous voice she 
 said: "I can't let you do that. My accom- 
 modations are not just what I should like to 
 offer, but you are welcome. Come in and dry 
 yourself. My man will attend to your horse 
 and I will get you something to eat." 
 
 I thanked her warmly, and, entering, found 
 myself in a large living room, with a deep re- 
 cess or kitchen at one side. There was a 
 cheerful fire, and by a window, there was a
 
 232 ON A WESTERN CAMPtTS. 
 
 table with a number of books and the lamp 
 that had lighted me in through the fog. The 
 furniture, though old-fashioned, betokened a 
 fairly prosperous owner, and there was such an 
 appearance of order and comfort that I began 
 to feel at home at once. 
 
 My hostess called the ranchman and soon 
 had my supper steaming over the fire. Her 
 manner was kindness itself and there was an 
 air of intelligence and refinement about her, 
 that aroused my interest deeply. As I sat, 
 warming my benumbed hands and stretching 
 my stiffened limbs, I began to speculate upon 
 her position and history. The wrinkles of her 
 pale face seemed deeply written records of 
 struggle and sorrow. Yet there was strength 
 and determination also. Her positive manner, 
 the promptness and authority with which she 
 gave her orders to the ranchman, together 
 with the minute directions which she added 
 to her commands, proved that she was master 
 there and the only one. Yet why should such 
 a woman live alone in this wilderness? And 
 again, what had so suddenly altered her man- 
 ner towards me?
 
 THE PROFESSOR'S STORY. 233 
 
 But at this point my speculations were in- 
 terrupted by her call to supper. She seated 
 herself opposite me and waited upon me at- 
 tentively. After a few questions concerning 
 my journey, she suddenly asked: "You are 
 from the East, are you not? You haven't been 
 long on the coast." 
 
 Somewhat surprised, I answered: "Yes, I 
 am from the East. My parents are New 
 Yorkers. I have been in the West two years." 
 She said, "I was sure that you were a new- 
 comer. There is a certain air and accent 
 about people from the far East. I recognize an 
 Easterner almost at first sight. " Then after a 
 slight pause she added. "Still it isn't many 
 that I see in this wilderness." 
 
 There was a tone of sadness in this last 
 remark that started anew my train of specu- 
 lations. We talked on in commonplaces un- 
 til I finished my meal. Detecting occasionally 
 what I judged an anxious look, I determined 
 to allay if possible any suspicion or fear which 
 she might have concerning me. So I ex- 
 plained, in detail, my errand to Villanne, and 
 then related how I came to the coast to im-
 
 234 ON A WESTERN" CAMPUS. 
 
 prove my health, continue my studies and to 
 see more of the world. 
 
 "And unlike most new-comers," I went on, 
 "I have not been homesick for a single day. 
 I spend most enjoyable vacations in \ he moun- 
 tains and at the seashore, seeing more of 
 nature and less of men. I am getting on well 
 at college also. During the past two years at 
 Berksly ." 
 
 But I did not finish my sentence. At the 
 name Berksly, she sank back in her chair with 
 a stifled moan, and covered hj^r face with her 
 hands. In a moment she recovered herself 
 but there were tears in her eyes as she said in 
 a voice full of emotion: "Berksly, Berksly, 
 you do not know what sorrow that name 
 awakes in me. I have sometimes wished that 
 Berksly had been sunk in the middle of the 
 bay." 
 
 She paused a moment and then the tears 
 came like rain. I was silent. Her grief was 
 too deep for one who did not share it to com- 
 fort, yet she noticed my silent sympathy, and 
 struggling to control her emotion, went on : "I 
 know it is a weak and foolish thing to cry, but
 
 THE PROFESSOR'S STORY. 235 
 
 there have been many times when I would have 
 given all that I owned for tears. Your sud- 
 den coming has moved me deeply, and I feel 
 that I must tell you why. Your young face 
 and Eastern accent have taken me back to the 
 time when I was young and hopeful. My 
 parents too, were New Yorkers, and when I 
 was young I had all that money and social 
 position could give. I attended the best 
 schools and took a high rank. Friends 
 prophesied great triumphs for me. I was 
 called beautiful and it must have been true, 
 for I know that I was proud and had would-be 
 lovers by the score. I was Milton Sherwood's 
 daughter, and would inherit not only wealth 
 but the prestige of an old family name. 
 
 "Among the many who crowded around me 
 there was one whose mere presence was a charm. 
 He was manly and handsome, and esteemed me 
 too highly to weary me with flattery. We be- 
 came fast friends and in time, though I never 
 acknowledged it, lovers. I was proud and rich. 
 He was a poor young lawyer with no resources 
 but his education and his active brain. I 
 could not see how even love could bridge the
 
 236 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 gulf between his position and mine. One day 
 a decisive moment came, and though my pride 
 made me say, friendship, it cost me inexpressible 
 pain. It seemed as if I had sacrificed my soul. 
 
 "And then in a period of benumbed relaxa- 
 tion I allowed a broker's son to pay me his 
 court. He was a commonplace young man 
 but he had money and a long line of aristo- 
 cratic ancestors. The social world was de- 
 lighted, our parents approved, and we were 
 married. But there was a hollowness in my 
 affection for him because there was an empti- 
 ness in my life when I realized that he whom my 
 inmost heart had worshipped had gone out of 
 it forever. Yet I tried to forget, for I knew 
 what had been done was irrevocable. I wished 
 to make my husband happy. He should not 
 suffer through my mistaken pride. 
 
 "A child was born, and, in addition to the 
 passion of motherhood, all the pent-up love 
 of my heart was lavished upon that boy. I 
 had something to live for and a new and 
 stronger tie bound me to my husband. Soon 
 his baby prattle and the patter of his little feet 
 broke the silence of our old house. But one
 
 THE PKOFESSOR'S STORY. 237 
 
 summer morning as the nurse and I were start- 
 ing for a drive, he slipped away from us, and 
 before we missed him, was in the street. The 
 next moment I heard a shout and saw a dray- 
 man, with a look of horror in his face, bring 
 his horses upon their haunches. But it was 
 too late. My child was crushed before my 
 eyes. 
 
 "More light went out of my life that summer 
 morning than I thought could ever return to 
 it again. My loss seemed a judgment sent 
 upon me for being untrue to the holiest pas- 
 sion I had known. Then I hated my false 
 pride, and the false value I had placed upon 
 money. In my wild grief I began to hate the 
 city and almost to loathe our home. The pave- 
 ments seemed cruel and blood-stained, and 
 each time a heavy load went rumbling by, that 
 terrible scene would flash upon me and drive 
 me wild. 
 
 "Just then the news of gold in California 
 reached New York, and a frenzy of excitement 
 followed. One day my husband came home 
 and said that a company of merchants had 
 chartered a ship to Aspinwall, and that if I
 
 238 ON A WESTERN - CAMPUS. 
 
 would consent he would sail with them for the 
 gold fields. I answered, 'Take me with you 
 and you can go. ' He argued the dangers and 
 hardships, but I was young and daring and 
 the idea took hold upon me like an inspiration. 
 Life in the city had become unbearable, and I 
 hailed escape from it as a slave hails freedom. 
 Danger and hardship would be welcome if they 
 brought relief from the remorse and grief that 
 distracted me. 
 
 "My will prevailed, and we sailed, leaving 
 behind home, parents, friends, and all the 
 luxuries of our wealth for an unknown future 
 in an unknown land. The journey was long 
 and hard, but we reached San Francisco safely, 
 passed up to Sacramento and joined a pack-train 
 for the foot-hills. There were many trials by 
 the way, but the wildness and novelty of the 
 scene, and a secret exultation at my triumph 
 over the unusual, bore me up. 
 
 "How I survived what followed at the mines, 
 I cannot tell. I saw continually around me, 
 strong men die from fever, from exposure, 
 from homesickness and despair. Many were 
 the dying hands I held in mine, and many
 
 THE PROFESSOR'S STORY. 239 
 
 were the last messages I wrote to wives and 
 sweethearts across the plains. And as I wrote 
 those sad farewells of strong men to those for 
 whose sake they had dared to face such dan- 
 gers, my own grief lost its sharpness. 
 
 "My husband shared the common fortune of 
 the gold hunter, sometimes rich, sometimes 
 almost without a dollar, but always full of 
 confidence that there was a great fortune just 
 ahead. But, at last, after a very disastrous 
 year, he came to me and said: 'Mary, I put 
 all I had in the Victoria except a few hun- 
 dred. It's a complete failure, and it's all 
 gone. I'm completely discouraged. Come, 
 let us go down to the coast and begin over 
 again.' 
 
 "So we came here, bought a thousand acres 
 of the Spanish owner for a trifling sum, and 
 began sheep-raising in a modest way, for all 
 our former wealth had been lost at the mines. 
 Those were wild, free days, though some were 
 long and lonesome. Traces of my old sor- 
 row came back at times, but time and distance 
 had removed the bitterness and the sting. I 
 had grown into a new life in a new land.
 
 240 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 "We prospered. I became more and more 
 contented and into this contentment came a 
 great joy. It was another son, the child of 
 my maturest womanhood, strong and beauti- 
 ful, and how I loved him! It was more than 
 any girlish mother's love. It was the strong 
 love of ripe years, made tender by trial and 
 sorrow, and made holy by the memory of the 
 little one snatched from me years before." 
 
 My hostess was silent for a moment. I 
 looked up and saAV that her eyes were fixed 
 upon something far away, and for a moment 
 her face lighted with an expression which I 
 shall never forget as she recalled the purest 
 passion known on earth, a mother's love for her 
 child. 
 
 Then she continued : "The child grew and 
 it seemed as if all I had ever dared to hope 
 for unfolded with his unfolding life. All the 
 grief and remorse and rebellion of my earlier 
 life faded out in the presence of my joy. 
 Every passion of my heart and every energy of 
 my soul was centered upon the child. And 
 should he know sorrow as I had known it? 
 Never, and I banished the past.
 
 THE PROFESSOR'S STORY. 241 
 
 "The years passed more quickly than the 
 months do now, and my Harry grew to boy- 
 hood. He showed a studious turn of mind, 
 and for his sake I became a student again. 
 Books which I had not touched for twenty 
 years were opened, and subjects not thought 
 of since my seminary days were taken up anew. 
 Before he was born all the gold in the Sierras 
 would not have tempted me to touch any 
 thing that would raise up the cruel ghosts of 
 the past. Harry had an active mind and we 
 planned to prepare him for college. I was to go 
 with him to the city while my husband was to 
 divide his time between the city and the ranch. 
 
 <4 But at this time my husband, while on his 
 way to market was caught in a cold rain. 
 Pneumonia resulted, and in two weeks Harry 
 was fatherless. The poor boy seemed like one 
 stunned, and perhaps was never quite himself 
 again. My own grief was deep, for my hus- 
 band was always kind, and in his quiet way, 
 Joved me with a constancy which none of our 
 varied fortunes ever shook. It was not his 
 fault that I had not been always happy, and T 
 knew it all too well.
 
 242 ON A WESTERS CAMPUS. 
 
 "All plans for Harry's schooling were broken. 
 I dared not entrust the management of the 
 ranch to a stranger, for it was our only source 
 of income, and I could not bear to think of 
 sending Harry away alone. But after two 
 more years of study together, I felt it my duty 
 to send him to college. So he went to 
 Berksly. At first it was hard to stay out in 
 these lonely hills without him, but he suc- 
 ceeded so well and was so hopeful and happy 
 that I soon learned to bear it. He worked 
 hard and earnestly and made a good record. 
 At the end of the second year, the president 
 wrote me that he was the strongest man in his 
 
 "In his junior year he was selected one of the 
 speakers for the intercollegiate debate. He 
 threw himself into preparation with great 
 earnestness. He wrote that Berksly had the 
 weaker side, that one of the speakers against 
 them was the finest student-orator in the 
 State, consequently it would take the hardest 
 kind of work to win. He complained of a lack 
 of time, and at last I consented to his remain- 
 ing until after the debate before visiting
 
 THE PROFESSOR'S STORY. 243 
 
 home. I, too, was anxious that he should 
 win. It would be a double reward for the 
 years of study with him, if, besides leading 
 his class, he should make his mark in debate. 
 
 "As the winter wore away, I noticed that his 
 letters were peculiar, but thought it due to his 
 great interest in the coining contest. 
 
 "At last the day came. That evening I sent 
 my man to the telegraph station to await news. 
 At midnight he came back with two messages 
 that made me the proudest woman on the 
 coast that night. One was from Harry and 
 said: 'Mother, we have won.' The other 
 was from the president and read: 'Berksly 
 wins. Your son's work did it.' If I had 
 known that his work was his life blood, and 
 that the triumph was to be purchased at such 
 cost! 
 
 "On the second evening afterward in just 
 such a fog as this I heard a knock at the door. 
 I opened it, and before it stood a college 
 friend of Harry's. 'Harry is sick,' he said, 
 'and the doctors said we should take him 
 home at once. It's nervous prostration. 
 Overwork and too much mental strain did it,
 
 244 ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 but I think home and mother will bring him 
 out all right.' At first I was not seriously 
 alarmed, but when they brought him in as 
 weak as a child, and I saw his pale, changed 
 face, the walls seemed to fall in upon me. I 
 felt that the last blow had struck. 
 
 "A fever followed and he did not rally. Phy- 
 sicians from the city came, but could not help 
 him. Yet they said when the rains stopped 
 and spring came, there would probably be a 
 change for the better. Spring came. The 
 poppies and (u-cam-cups blossomed on the 
 hills. The warm sunshine and pure air were 
 life-giving, but they wrought no change in 
 Harry. He became only the shadow of my 
 once beautiul boy. With a despairing heart I 
 watched his departing life until one May morn- 
 ing it went out forever. 
 
 "I buried him beside his father and with him 
 I seemed to bury every hope. And, oh, what 
 months of cruel, crushing sorrow followed! 
 In my first grief I thought I saw a hand of 
 justice and I rebelled only against myself. But 
 in this I rebelled against all in a bitter, despair- 
 ing agony of soul. I cannot tell you how long
 
 THE PROFESSOR'S STORY. 245 
 
 and hard and painful the strife was, but here, 
 all alone with the sky and the hills and the 
 ocean, I have struggled out of that bitterness 
 into peace not unbroken, not perfect, but 
 real and comforting to my sorely sorrowing- 
 heart. 
 
 "And here I am, alone and old. I attend to 
 the affairs of my ranch and I always shall. I 
 cannot leave it though I could well afford to 
 live away. But my husband died here and my 
 Harry died here and I shall stay here till the 
 end. You are the first student who has vis- 
 ited here since those who came to bury their 
 class-mate, my boy. There is something in 
 your face which has drawn me to you and 
 moved me to tell you my story. You are too 
 young to realize it now, perhaps, yet sometime 
 you may do well to remember it. But it is 
 late and you are tired. I have wearied you 
 too long with an old woman's troubles. 
 There's a light in your room at the end of the 
 hall." And then glancing at the clock she 
 added: "Unless you are in a hurry, I won't 
 call you too early in the morning." 
 
 When the professor, with flushed face,
 
 24G ON A WESTERN CAMPUS. 
 
 suffused eyes and melting earnestness of voice, 
 finished his tale there was an almost solemn 
 stillness in the dimly-lighted room, and no 
 one wished to be the first to break it. Before 
 any one spoke, the chapel bell began to toll 
 out the last moments of the year. The circle 
 sat in silence till the wild clangor of bells and 
 shrill screaming of whistles announced the 
 new. The host turned on the lights; the 
 company arose, exchanging greetings and 
 good-wishes and began to gather around Pro- 
 fessor Rolleston. The first to reach him was 
 the instructress in French. She grasped his 
 hand with a warm New Year's greeting and 
 with glistening eyes, she earnestly expressed 
 her appreciation. Then others pressed around 
 and fairly confused the modest professor with 
 praise and compliment. He was still the cen- 
 ter of an admiring group when the guests be- 
 gan to depart. 
 
 At last when this group was dispersing, the 
 Latin professor touched the host upon the 
 shoulder, directed his attention to it with a 
 glance, smiled significantly and said: "Our 
 enigma has revealed himself and I am sure we
 
 THE PROFESSOR'S STORY. 247 
 
 are all charmed with the revelation. Besides 
 he has completely captured our impulsive 
 Miss Lamar. His romance and pathos have 
 gone straight to her sympathetic heart. See! 
 They are still talking by the mantel. Ah! 
 They are going away together. Professor 
 Townsend, I fear this will result in total ex- 
 piation!"
 
 4tW 
 
 CALIF. LIBRANY. LOS ANGELA
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 AA 000 022 116 8